#reader isnert

[cabinofimagines]

A Graveyard Smash

and here is the last one of the year! Hope you guys enjoyed our shorter but still there Halloween fics :) Pairing: Platonic the seven + a bunch of other ones x reader Word count: 2k Warnings: none! -Asnyox < prev.

You didn’t know what to expect from the grove as a party destination, yet you were slightly blown away. You noticed how most of the decorations were themed around the destruction of nature- pollution was replicated by snack stashes for the satyrs (and perhaps some fauns from Camp Jupiter, you were certain you saw Don somewhere sneaking around), there were red and yellow lights all around, simulating fire and there were many skeletons (which, given how Nico had immediately left after the group call two days ago, probably was courtesy of him). You didn’t know how to feel about the possible real skeletons laying around, so you opted to ignore the possibility of Nico summoning them. 

However, you also saw that Meg and her siblings had deemed that to be a rather serious theme to decorate in, so here and there you found some more, handcrafted of reusable materials, generic halloween decorations. Except for carved pumpkins. There were so many pumpkins, but they were all uncarved. You guessed they didn’t want to show actual body horror to the dryads. There was some old-timey Halloween music playing, although you were unable to find any speakers. Guess the trees to really speak to you if you listen.  

As you saw Leo and Jason’s costumes you just knew that Leo had bribed Meg to know what the theme of the party would be like. He must have, why else would he think of these costumes? You had to admit, you didn’t know Leo owned a hat this tall, but you didn’t put it above him to have crafted it himself. 

“I don’t think the Onceler’s hat was that big?”  You walked up to the duo, “Or the Lorax’s mustache that big.”  

“I am lucky to not have to deal with the orange paint,”. Jason grimaced. Leo elbowed him. 

“Say the line Jason!”  Leo whispered, loudly. Jason sighed and deadpanned. 

“I am the Lorax! I speak for the trees!”  Jason tried to make a more spooky sound at the end of the sentence, after which Leo jumped forward, borderline belting.

“How ba-a-a-ad can I be?” Leo’s ‘be’ ended, somehow, on a S-tone so it rhymed with Jason’s phrase. He was grinning proudly. Jason tried to hide it, but he did seem to get amusement out of his friends' behavior. You laughed. 

“Jace, I have to be honest with you,” you looked at your friend, “I had a bet with Nico that you would be a tree. Will won though, he guessed the Lorax.”  

“You had a bet?”  Jason shook his head, “Let me guess, you do have a spare tree costume and want me to put it on so you win?”  You laughed again. 

“I wish,” you turned to Leo, “How is your hat staying up when it’s this tall?”  

“Support beams made out of metal rods and foam!”  Leo’s eyes sparkled, “carton in between, I can show you after the party, I swear it’s so structurally sound. Annabeth would love to know the skeleton of. this hat.”  Leo pouted,“ It’s too bad she has been so busy with school lately, she would have loved to work on this thing together.”   

“Everyone was suffering under me indeed,” you sighed dramatically, intentionally showing off your outfit. 

“Wait, you’re-“ Jason got up real close to one of your sleeves, “That’s my English essay! How the fuck did you get your hands on that!” Jason shivered, “I still haven’t heard back from it, I sure hope I passed.”  

“I shalt not say, dear Grace, whether you passed or not,”. You smiled, “However, I have my sources and thankfully an amazing artist who hand copied all of your work.” 

“Luckily I do not have anything on here,” Leo laughed, “Dying was the best decision for that.”

  —- 

You found two sheet ghosts with cowboy hats a bit further out, talking to each other. 

“But you’re so cute though!” Hazel exclaimed, “I’m sure Nico meant no harm.”  

“I know it was just weird seeing that.”  Frank sighed, “Hedge seemed really happy though.”  

“Boo!”  You yelled and the pair jumped up. After a second Frank leaned back. You couldn’t see his face underneath the sheet, but you figured he looked upset. 

“That’s our line (Y/n)!”  He faked exasperation. 

“Yeah! We’re the cow-boos after all!”  Hazel snickered while saying her phrase. 

“Cow-boo? Oh- I get it,”. You smiled, “Yeah that is funny.” 

“It doesn’t seem like that when you say that,”. Hazel sighed, “Well, what are you then?” 

“Oh, for you I have my left leg,”. You smiled deviously, “Praetor's have a lot of paperwork after all.” You held out your leg. Frank and Hazel moved their eye holes to see more clearly as they bowed down to take a look.

“Uh Frank,” Hazel hesitated, “I think we forgot something.” Hazel pointed at your knee, “I did not fill out this document which we had to hand in yesterday.” 

“I did uh, I did not either.”  

“Fuck” they said in unision. 

“Also how did you get these?” Hazel sounded panicked, “These are classified documents!” You laughed.

“Look, most of my costume is deadlines,” you added a spooky ‘ooooooohhhhhh’ to the last word, “but for you two I also choose to be a security breach. I can give you the name of the one who gave Calypso the files.” 

“That would be great.” Frank said, “Uh, Hazel, maybe we should quickly IM someone at Camp Jupiter about the deadlines we missed.”  

“Yeah, also (Y/n) you better hide your legs or we will steal your pants.” Hazel glared at you. You slowly backed away. 

“How about dinner first?” You joked, as you ran for it. 

——

You quickly weaved around the crowd, trying your best to get away from Hazel and Frank. You stumbled into what seemed to be the heart of a gathering. On one side of the circle you had Rock, Paper and Scissors. On the other side you had The Argo II, together with the seven demigod heroes who defeated Gaea. 

Except that Will was just standing on the side. You joined him quietly. 

“This was Nico’s plan?” You asked him and he sighed, 

“Yes and he stood on me being Percy.”  Will looked at you, “As if he wanted to rub in that Percy was his first crush.” 

“You look nothing like Percy though,” You laughed, “You’re blonde.”  

“Nico wanted to force me to wear a wig,” Will shook his head, “I opposed him, wigs are itchy.” Will smiled softly, “Although the Cocoa Puffs are adorable, and it warms my heart to see Hedge in his element like this.” 

“I look nothing like Will!” Percy’s voice sounded loudly. He seemed offended, “At least Frank looks really cute.”  Percy pouted. One particular Cocoa Puff puffed out their chest in pride. Nico stood in the middle of it all, dressed at what you assumed to be a Reyna costume, as Reyna stood next to him, dressed in Nico’s clothes. Nico could hardly stop smiling at the reactions to the Cocoa Puffs. You were about to ask Will something when

 “BAM!” Hege yelled as he hit you from behind with a blow-up bat, “YOU JUST GOT ARGO’ED!” 

“Amazing,” you looked Hedge up and down. He was wearing a boat around his middle, and on his head was a … Festus Hat? Hedge looked like an excited child. 

“Whatcha think, huh? Valdez even delivered on the hat!” Hedge let out an excited bleat, “Although it was all the kids idea,” he pointed at Nico, “I’m really happy to be included though! It’s been a while since all my cupcakes were in the same spot with me! And now I even got two batches! OH! I see Zhang over there, gotta hit him too!” And Hedge ran off. 

After a moment of silence Will and you locked eyes, and both started laughing. 

“He’s having a blast,” Will smiled, “Nico was right to get Hedge involved. How’s the scaring going?” Will turned to you. 

“Hazel and Frank are panicking about some forms they forgot and the security breach,” You grinned devilishly, “Jason is just mostly disappointed, and I still have to show the Rock, Paper Scissors trio my outfit.” 

—

Annabeth hated your outfit. Whether it was the fact that you got her only failing grade paper on the back, or the fact that she did not want to think about the last minute mistakes she made in two of the other papers she would not tell you. However, she did say she would find Leo to, and you quote, ‘definitely not set fire to your costume and ruin Calypso’s hard work’. Percy held in his laughter until Annabeth was out of earshot. 

“So where’s my work?” Percy eagerly looked around your jacket, and you pointed him towards  the sleeve. 

“Sally was eager to give it to me, she seems proud of your grades, even if they aren’t that high.” you said, and Percy had a bit of an embarrassed blush on his face. 

“Whenever I get a passing grade she keeps it,” Percy explained, “to remind me what I am capable of.” He was still inspecting your arm, but suddenly stopped, “Wait, is this- I wrote this when I was 7!” he was now a mess, “Please don’t tell me you read it.”

“I did, Percy.” you cackled crazily for a moment, “Percy Jackson or should I say Aqualad!  I am your embarrassing past!” Percy glared at you. 

“Just because I wrote a Aquaman and Little Mermaid crossover does not mean I wanted to BE aqualad (Y/n).” 

“I think it does,” Piper spoke up, “Also I appreciate the effort but I will not be looking for my work, thanks.”

“Aw, Pipes, come on,” you begged her but she shook her head. 

“Deadlines cannot be scary unless you face them, so I am procrastinating.”

“Unfair!” you glared at her, “Piper Mclean I will come for you! You can run, but deadlines always catch up to you!” 

After a moment of silence all three of you laughed. 

Your moment was interrupted by Meg calling for attention. She was dressed as Gollum, while Apollo stood next to her in a Frodo outfit. A bit further in the back stood who you guessed to be Grover from the satyr legs, dressed as Gandalf. 

“It is time to announce the winners of tonight's costume contest!” she yelled, and everyone cheered, “We have seen many amazing costumes, but one duo certainly blew us away.”

Percy, who still stood next to you, breathed out a soft ‘dam’.

“What? You really thought you would win with ‘Rock, Paper, Scissors’?” you whispered and he just looked at you.

“I could dream okay?”

“Please come forth!” Meg paused, “Gideon Nav and Harrowhark Nonagesimus!” After a moment, filled with cheers, Calypso and Thalia took the stage looking absolutely stunning and creepy. Calypso was dressed as Harrowhark, with intricate face paint and basically wearing a skeleton around herself. Thalia was Gideon, with more shabby facepaint, the iconic sunglasses and with a six feet claymore on her back. They both bowed, looking up smiling. 

“By my rules,” Meg continued after a moment, “You get to decide where to host next year, so where will it be?” 

Thalia and Calypso looked at each other and Thalia shrugged, “I don’t know where I will be with the hunt, so it’s up to you Calypso.” Calypso looked a bit panicked, before taking a deep breath. 

“I guess it will be at the Waystation then!” she announced, and there were loud cheers from the crowd. 

As the party resumed, you hoped Calypso would be earlier with the invitations than Meg had been. After all, working with deadlines was pretty scary.

#request #halloweenverse #halloween 2023 #pjo x reader #reader isnert #imagine #percy jackson #heroes of olympus #leo valdez #nico di angelo #requests #jason grace #cabinofimagines #annabeth chase #will solace #piper mclean #platonic #calypso #hazel levesque #frank zhang #admin asja #meg #thalia grace #reyna avila ramirez arellano #apollo #admin asnyox

[philliam-writes]

you are in the earth of me [04]

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x fem! Reader

Content: no warnings apply (except Lockwood being a lil dum-dum but we love him for it)

Summary: Responsibility. Lucrative agent. Resource. It seems everyone is happy to fit your whole existence into one word; put you inside a cardboard box, slap a postage stamp on your forehead as though you’re some ghastly parcel to be shipped off when taking up too much space; being too inconvenient. Looks like even Lockwood and Co. is no different from the other agencies, a sobering revelation that is surprisingly disappointing.

Notes: [01] || [03] | [05]

Words: 4.6k

A/N: this is for @tangledinlove, my beloved, who without i'm not sure if i would be back to writing this as enthusiastically. or at all. your writing gives me a home to return to and tons of love. thank you for that.

after the cancellation of s2, i got really unhappy, especially with my writing/the story compared to the other gems on this platform, so if this at some point disappears or i stop uploading, i'm sorry in advance. until then, i keep going and creating for you guys a second home as best as i can. love you all ♥

04: there's a kind of calling

shoulder the sky (i can’t wait to show you how much) open those eyes (i know you can be, just let the rain come) there’s a kind (let the rain come down, darling) (can’t you hear it howling?) of calling, calling — The Amazing Devil: The Calling

He stands tall in the doorframe, like a praetorian from the elite Roman military force, spatula in one hand to strike, a saucepan lid, fogged from condensation, in his other hand to defend. Most importantly though, he is not wearing any pants.

Lockwood gives him a dejected look. “George. We talked about wearing no pants outside of your room.”

“I see you brought her back,” George replies, ignoring Lockwood. His small, dark eyes seem exceptionally sharp behind his black-rimmed glasses. “Why did you bring her back?”

Old retirees whose lawns you’ve trespassed on have greeted you more kindly. But as with any building you enter, the rule is not to hesitate at the threshold, so when Lockwood and Lucy walk inside, you follow right after them.

Portland Row at the edge of dawn was enticing like Sleeping Beauty. Now at evening it is something else entirely: a waft of warm, spicy smell engulfs you: tumeric, onions, safran. Roasted chicken, a lemony tang—the whole mix is mouth-watering and for a moment you get dizzy from hunger. You can’t remember the last time you’ve eaten; your stomach growls more horrifying than the rumbling of a Raw-bones at night.

“Look alive, George, this case is far from over!” Lockwood announces. He shrugs out of his coat and hangs it on the rack, shaking out his wet hair. Cold water is trickling down the back of his neck, dampening his collar. A sudden shower has surprised you on the way back, making the ride back in the cab even more uncomfortable in addition to sitting squeezed next to Lockwood and making sure your knees don’t touch. “And she’s kindly agreed to lend us a hand.”

George eyes you, from top to bottom. His nose twitches a little as though he’s smelling a wet dog, but then he gives a twitch that vaguely resembles a shrug before he ducks into the kitchen. “I’ll get another plate out.”

“Oh, I can get take out—” you start.

“Nonsense.” Lockwood waves in the general direction of the wooden floor, signalling you to leave your bags in the hallway. “George’s food is something you have to try. Zereshk Polo, isn’t it, George? This will also give us an opportunity to decide on what to do next, and share everything we know.”

“Where’s she staying, Lockwood?” Lucy asks. Her wet hair sticks to her forehead and cheeks, and she brushes it impatiently behind her ears. “Last time I checked, we don’t have any spare rooms.” She narrows her eyes at him in a certain way that suggests she doesn’t want you bunking in her room. Not that you mind. You’re not too keen on sleeping in the same room with someone else either.

“The library was fine,” you say, dropping your bags where Lockwood has shown you. “And it’s only for this night. I’ll try and find another place first thing tomorrow.”

Lockwood purses his lips. “I would rather you stay here until we find whoever is out there thinking that you have the key. You have become an essential resource for this case, one I’d rather not put in danger.”

There’s a profound silence, only disturbed by the sizzling in the kitchen and George’s quiet, off-tune humming.

Responsibility. Lucrative agent. Resource. It seems everyone is happy to fit your whole existence into one word; put you inside a cardboard box, slap a postage stamp on your forehead as though you’re some ghastly parcel to be shipped off when taking up too much space; being too inconvenient. Looks like even Lockwood and Co. is no different from the other agencies, a sobering revelation that is surprisingly disappointing.

A flash of bitterness passes over Lucy’s face, but it fades quickly. “Lockwood—” she begins, drawing herself up. Her voice seems dangerously sharp like the edges of broken glass, and standing between them, you’re surprised that your head is not immediately razed off by the laser sharp intensity of whatever weird staring contest Lucy and Lockwood are currently engaged in.

Lockwood’s response is his dark eyebrows drawn together in a puzzled frown. But before he can say something, you speak up, voice sweeter than saccharin, “Your resource would love to take a shower first before we start. Is that OK?”

That’s when Lockwood realises. All colour drains from his face, then comes back as two crimson spots high on his cheeks. “I—”

“Yes.” Lucy’s eyes are still on Lockwood, her voice oddly distant. “I’ll jump into the shower myself, but the boys’ bathroom is just upstairs.” When she brushes past Lockwood, she sends him a glare that is sharper than the rapier she pulls out of her holster and stuffs inside the umbrella rack. “And Lockwood will wait for his turn.”

Suits you just fine. You leave your kit in the hallway and take the bag with your clothes upstairs, past the masks and curios mounted on the wall, wooden-framed pictures and newsletter pages showing a younger Lockwood wearing a full-body fencing suit and grinning into the camera like the Cheshire Cat after winning a fencing tournament. It must be from the memorable day when Kipps got his ass handed to him, one of his less favourite subjects to dwell on from his past. Your chest twinges at the sight—Matthew would have attended too; he had been the best with a rapier out of you three, making it almost look as easy and graceful as dancing.

You draw your shoulders together and follow after Lucy, banishing the thoughts and echoes from the past before they can rise to an awful noise in your head. A shower, some food. A plan. Brick by brick you can rebuild yourself.

Lucy drops you off at the threshold of a small square bathroom, simply gesturing into the room with an awkward wave of her hand. It’s completely white-tiled with simple furniture and a few dried out plants at the windowsill. The blinds are drawn shut and with the sun setting the room is turning darker by the minute. A few dark heaps of clothing lie scattered on the ground, hiding a square vine-patterned rug.

“Thanks,” you say, fumbling along the wall in search for the light switch. Lucy hesitates a moment, and you think she might say something. But then she turns on her heels and stalks another floor up, already starting to peel out of her soaked-in, woolly sweater.

You turn to the bathroom, standing still for a moment just to test how wild your thoughts run, how loud that creature inside your head howls. What a mess you dragged yourself into—or got dragged into, more likely. You’ll have to see Kipps soon and tell him what happened, and look out for a new apartment. You stand there, unmoving, shivering like aspen leave in high wind. One thing at a time. Rome wasn’t built in a day either.

Deposing your bag in a corner, you begin unpacking what you need. A cough from the door has your head whipping around. Lockwood is leaning against the doorframe. He seems to do that a lot, you think. Some guys are just meant to loom.

“Sorry we can’t give you proper accommodations. I’m sure you’re used to different things from the Rotwell dormitories.” His eyes glide over your head as though he’s taking in the bathroom for the first time. He’s playing with the ring on his right hand, twirling it around his thin finger. You force your eyes away from his slender piano-fingers and how hot they felt around your wrist this afternoon.

“Let’s be honest, all that Pomp and Circumstance means nothing.” You return pulling clothes out of your duffel bag. “They didn’t hesitate for a second to throw me out the moment I became an inconvenience.” The confession pries something open within you: an age-old chest of memories you’ve kept firmly locked and tucked away in the recess of your mind, now yielding in his presence. The same thing has happened at the first agency you worked for, shortly after Matthew’s death. Nobody wanted to deal with the broken girl, the grieving girl who wouldn’t leave her room, who was suspended from work and then released. Had it not been for Kipps and someone else, someone very important and influential, you probably would have kept wandering in that darkness forever.

Not wanting to see the pity on Lockwood’s face, you sort your things and move towards the shower, pushing the flowery curtains aside.

After a moment, Lockwood’s voice comes again from the door. “You might want to wait until Lucy’s done upstairs if you don’t want to use the shower George and I use,” he says, but it sounds a little wrong as if those aren’t the words he wants to say but doesn’t know how to get the right ones out.

Wondering what it is he can’t say, you reply without thinking, “It’s OK. I had a brother, I don’t mind sharing with boys.”

Lockwood is very still for a moment. His face has changed. “Had?”

Only then your brain registers what you’ve said. You keep your expression blank when you look at him. “Mind if I take one of your towels?”

Lockwood answers your look alike. Something passes between you in that moment, but you don’t have the words, or insight into him, to understand what it is. He slips past you and pushes a pile of towels off the toilet seat with the tip of his slippers. “Not those. They’re George’s.”

From a bottom drawer, he pulls out a fresh towel. “Here, I, ah … hope you don’t mind.” He hands it to you and immediately, you notice it smells like him—lavender soap and clean cotton. A little like … sunlight. Clean and warm. You quickly snatch it from his hands and turn your face away, afraid he can see what you think.

When there’s nothing left to say, he shuffles out of your way. “Well then, good luck.”

You snort. “With taking a shower?”

“Imagine slipping and breaking your neck on a shower tile. I wouldn’t want a Visitor like that in my house.”

“Fair point.”

He gives a little awkward smile.

You feel the corner of your mouth twitch.

Lockwood pulls the door shut behind him, and you wait until you hear him disappear downstairs before you peel out of your sweat-stinking top and sliced pants. The water is hot on your skin but a welcome change. During those ten minutes your head is blissfully empty and silent, granting you a moment of respite as you focus on how the hot drops pelt on your skin. After another ten minutes, you step out before they assume you managed to drown like a turkey.

You quickly scrub yourself dry and slip into some comfortable clothes. It’s a wonder what a little cleaning up and a set of fresh clothes can do to make you feel like a normal human again. Now, if Karim’s food tastes as good as it smells, you might sleep like a baby tonight.

The steam follows in wispy tendrils out onto the floor when you open the door. The sound of clattering dishes and voices draws you downstairs where you pause at the kitchen’s entrance, unsure if you should step in. It feels as though you’re about to intrude into their sacred space—their safe haven.

Before you can think of sneaking off and getting take-out, Lockwood spots you. He’s taken off his tie and opened the first buttons of his shirt. When he moves, you see the elegant curves of his collarbones, like the frail wings of a small bird. “Come on in,” he says. “You’ll love George’s cooking.”

You blink, dazed. Step in. The smell of exotic spices engulfs you. Your mouth waters at the sight of the colourful dishes—fresh tomato and onion salad, fluffy steaming rice, an assorted cutting board with nuts, olives, feta cheese and Gouda. It is a feast fit for royalty.

As they settle around the table, you take the seat at the other side of Lockwood. Someone’s already piled an enormous mountain of rice with a beautiful golden chicken leg on top on your plate. You prepare your stomach with some strong herbal tea and freshly backed garlic naan before you dive for the main course. You can’t remember the last time you’ve eaten a home-cooked meal, not to mention something this delicious.

“So, what did you guys find?” George asks with his mouth full. “I doubt she’d be here otherwise.”

You hardly care about his flippant attitude—not with the savoury, and slightly spicy rice dancing on your taste buts. So you just slide over the coin towards the table’s centre. Three heads lean forward. You keep chewing, blissfully relishing in the taste and texture.

“George, do you know what kind of coin that is?” Lucy asks, her lips curled around a straw as she drinks orange juice.

He picks it up, a piece of naan tucked between his teeth. In an instant, he is out of his chair and moves out of your sight. You hear a door to your right swing open, leading down to the cellar, you think, as you watch George disappear downstairs. The few minutes he’s gone you spent in polite silence, too engrossed in eating your way through the assorted finger food plates George has prepared. When he returns, he’s already inspecting the coin through a bronze magnifying glass.

“It’s not a coin, for starters,” George says. “I think it’s a … a badge? But the pins broke off, that’s why you mistook it for a coin.”

“And the symbol?” Lockwood leans closer to George, exhibiting more interest in the small object than his dinner plate. You’re already halfway done with yours. “Any idea what it could be?”

George chews on his bottom lip. “Hard to say. I mean, the symbols by themselves are pretty clear. The infinity symbol was first used mathematically in the 17th century, but it’s much, much older, dating back to Viking Age. In modern mysticism, it’s become identified with a variation of the ouroboros, that’s my closest guess. The cross is a lot more straightforward, but I doubt you want to listen to me going into Christianity in front of your salads.”

“You think you’ll have more luck finding something in the Archives?”

“The problem’s not the lack of books on symbology—it’s the opposite. It’ll take weeks to go through all and find what we might need. And for whatever reason there are even more in the restricted section; I know because Bobby Vernon doesn’t shut up about it whenever he thinks he has to be especially annoying.”

“I’m surprised he can reach the door handle.” Lockwood pauses, eyebrows furrowed. “And we’ve got no luck yet getting the access permit for our agency.”

Lucy leans over and helps herself to more rice. “Any specific reasons why?”

Lockwood scowls, and quickly glances your way. “It seems that we are too small an agency to have access to the restricted sections,” he explains, clearly unhappy.

Lucy presses her lips into a flat line. George keeps his eyes on the badge, his free hand draws the same symbol on the table cloth, his food forgotten for the moment.

“I could always ask Kipps to task Bobby to find out what this is,” you offer. “Kipps, remember him? The guy you were supposed to work with on this case.”

“It is easy to forget him, why with his little to no contribution to pretty much anything,” George replies.

Lockwood clears his throat. “Well, since technically the case is solved because we’ve contained the source, I don’t necessarily need him.” He pokes around his plate. “And since he’s paid his debt to me, I’d prefer not owing him in return.”

You shake your head. Men and their fragile ego. “In that case, I might have something for you.” You grab a handful of nuts from a small bowl and move to the hallway. Your kit is still where you’ve left it and a quick search gets you what you need.

Back in the kitchen, you flick the library pass in front of George, and relish in noticing his standoffish attitude wiped away by genuine surprise for a moment.

“Rotwell has its own research department for cases,” you explain. “We field agents don’t get access to the restricted areas, but someone didn’t pay attention when I applied. I’ve always had permission to enter.”

George touches the edges of the little plastic card as though it is a golden credit card. “You mean, I can just take it? And use it?” There’s a sparkle in his eyes, vibrant and strong and very much infectious.

“Unless you want me to ask Bobby—”

George beams at Lockwood. “I’ll go to the Archives first thing tomorrow.”

“There seems to be just one problem,” Lucy points out, tapping the plastic card with a black-polished finger. “Unless you’ve got a surprise prepared for us, George, you are not a girl.”

Everyone looks at your name in bright red letters on the card.

George scoffs. “Gender is just a social construct—”

“Luce, go with George and see if you two can find anything about that symbol,” Lockwood says. “Be discreet and cautious; don’t let anyone know what you’re looking into. Maybe you’ll find additional info on the case we have tomorrow. You know, the one for that man who looks like a rat. Best take your kit with you.”

Lucy hesitates for a moment, sharing a quick glance with George. “What are you going to do?”

Lockwood’s eyes find yours—you’ve had an idea about how to proceed next when he offered you to stay at Portland Row. Knowing what will come puts a damp on your appetite.

“We could go back to where we found the key,” Lockwood says to your surprise—something completely different than you have expected. “See if there’s anything where it could fit.”

“Who gave you the job?” you ask. “I want to know more about that Visitor. What do you know about him?”

“Nothing.” George goes back to wolfing down his food.

“Nothing?”

“Nothing,” Lockwood repeats severely.

“You’re joking.”

“Last time I checked, we’re agents,” Lockwood says mildly. “Not comedians.”

“Kipps would usually say you’re more like clowns.”

Lockwood clears his throat. “It was supposed to be an easy job. Secure the source, stop the Visitor. DEPRAC had the job available for agencies but everybody gave up on it at one point. We read the file, so we knew what would wait for us. It got to one Dullop and Tweed operative, ghost-locked him. Another one died, unlucky fellow.” For a moment, Lockwood pauses and watches a drop of condensation run on the inside of his orange juice glass. “The client’s the Abbey Mills Pumping Station. About five months ago, they started undergoing reparations on their flooded C Station Pump House. We think that’s what laid the Source bare, it must have been submerged in the water until they started draining the station because that’s when the workers began reporting a permanent chill in one area. They started avoiding that area owning to feelings of faint depression and nausea, followed by strong miasma, ghost-chill, the feeling of being followed and watched while working. Some felt horrible anger towards their colleagues. Up to the point where they would be consumed by it, started beating each other with spanners and shovels. They found the first victim drowned, though it wasn’t clear if it was another employee or the ghost’s fault. Gave DEPRAC quite a headache, figuring out it’s a ghost problem, then finding an agency that can find the source. They dubbed him the Phantom of the Sewage Cathedral.”

You pull up your nose. “Quiet a title. That Visitor must have died there then,” you wager. “Have you checked the station’s accident log?”

“Of course not, we’re bloody amateurs,” George says drily. You bite back a sharp retort. “Nothing in the log stood out. Of course it had its fair share of accidents. It finished construction in 1868 and we all know they didn’t care much for worker’s safety back then. But during the flooding two years ago, there we no fatal accidents. No one died. And when we located the Source, there was no body.”

“You think the key got in there at some point? From where?”

George shrugs. “Anywhere? The pumping station lifts sewage from the London sewerage system into the Northern Outfall Sewer and the Lee Tunnel, which both run to Beckton Sewage Treatment Works. They key also doesn’t look like it’d fit anywhere in the pumping station. I assume it’s older than that. I’m talking 16th-century older.”

“But the thing is,” Lucy says, her hands pressed flat against the table. Her eyes are wide open, glinting. “The ghost we saw is nowhere near that old. The clothes he’s wearing are from the modern era, and he wasn’t decomposed or rotting. I don’t think he’s been dead for that long. It’s sad, isn’t it? He died and to this day, nobody knows he’s gone … nobody is looking for him.”

“Yes, yes, very unfortunate.” Lockwood waves her concern away with an impatient wave of his hand. “I am more concerned for the living though. Not only have we a dangerous Visitor on us. Whoever is looking for the key isn’t afraid of using violence to get it.”

“Maybe the ghost would find his peace if only someone brought him justice,” Lucy shoots back. You notice the anger flashing in her eyes when she looks at Lockwood, hear the impatience in his voice when he brushes her concern for the ghost off like that. Interesting.

“That’s not much to go on,” you say into the silence of Lucy and Lockwood glaring at each other. Your eyes trail around the kitchen, set on the window. Through it you see part of the garden, unkempt and overgrown. Somehow you can’t imagine them sitting out there and drinking apple juice from the apple trees, Lucy in a floaty knee-length skirt and sandals, and Lockwood with a blue cotton shirt, an enormously baggy pair of shorts with flowers on them, and sneakers. “We don’t have a name, no history, and the Visitor might not have any connection to where you found his source.” You chew slowly, cogs turning in your head. When your eyes catch George’s, he is watching you, calm but with intention. You lower your spoon, appetite ebbing away.

“Oh, but we do have one last thing that might help us.” George leans forward, brown eyes gleaming behind his spotless glasses. His face is predatory but his voice is gentle. “Our psychic Talents.”

The bottom falls out of your stomach. It’s like putting a foot wrong on a frozen creek, the crack of ice, the sudden stop, the knowledge that there is nothing beneath but dark water.

“So that’s why you guys really want me here.” Your accusation bears no malice, just the chill and composition of a sniper routinely loading a rifle before making her hit. “Did it ever cross your mind I might say no?”

George falls back into his chair, a deceptively relaxed posture but from the way he flexes his hands on the table it looks as though he’s gearing up for a fight. “It’s the best lead we got. A psychic connection to the ghost might give us a hint on who murdered—”

“We know who murdered him,” you snap. “The same person who wants to put me six feet under next.”

“Would be the logical conclusion, but we’ve made the same mistake once. It’s never that simple.”

“George.” That’s Lockwood’s voice, calm yet firm. You wouldn’t describe his posture like George’s, slouching in his seat; Lockwood is leaning back, fingers steepled. He holds your gaze, purposefully, and you have to look away from its intensity. “No more experiments with psychic connections, we agreed to that.” His brown eyes slide lazily toward Lucy who has her mouth open in what seems like protest, but immediately closes it. For a moment you think her gaze sets on the ceiling as though there is something beyond the brick and mortar, an area or room in this house that would underline her point.

The question mark must be evident on your face. “My speciality is Listening,” Lucy explains. “Touch amplifies it sometimes, but I didn’t get much except sounds from the key, rapid footsteps, shouting, a gunshot—”

“Yeah,” you quickly say before the tang of stale water and foul soil can spread on your tongue. You try and wash it down with tea, welcoming the scalding heat in your mouth. Absently, you rub the spot on your chest where you know the Visitor was shot. “Yeah, I know, it’s uh … not a pleasant source.”

“I’d like to deal with a pleasant source for once,” George mumbles. He’s finished his plate, fingers tapping now on the edge of the table. He flicks impatient looks at Lockwood, who pretends not to notice. “So basically, the only thing we can do now is trying to find something in the Archives, at least regarding that symbol. Oh, and hoping whoever’s after that key doesn’t break in here next. That would be annoying, since it wouldn’t be the first time, and I’m quite fond of our new rug.”

“I know what you’re trying, George,” Lockwood says, with the annoyance of a man who’s already said this often enough, and who also wants to move past this specific topic but can’t. “If this were our last resort, I still wouldn’t force her—or anyone to do something this dangerous.” He’s crossed his arms, eyebrows furrowed. The fact that he’s mindful of your discomfort using your Talent comes as a genuine surprise.

“You didn’t seem to mind the first time I did it,” you throw in, watching him intently. Lockwood’s shoulders draw together.

“Technically, it was Kipps who brought you in,” he says. “I do want this case solved, but I am against getting involved with ghosts in any way.” His eyes rest on Lucy for a moment, heavy and contemplative. She makes an impressive job of not meeting his gaze.

You look down at your hands as though the answer of all your problems lies within your gloved palms. Either you stick to Lockwood’s plan, keep your hands away from the key, or you stop running from your own Talent. If what you interpret correctly between the unsubtle allusions of Lockwood, Lucy’s Talent doesn’t appear to be your run-off-the-mill Listening either.

A muscle in your jaw clenches, as though you’re chewing on your words before you speak. Finally, you breath, “OK. Let me do it.”

Lockwood stirs in his seat. “You don’t have to.”

“I know. But I hate sitting around and doing nothing even more.”

“All right,” he says slowly. “That means you two stick to the plan and go to the Archives tomorrow. I’ll meet up with you down at the factory for our case.” Lucy and George nod. Lockwood turns to your next. “And you and me will try and see what else the Visitor can show us.”

“Are you sure it’s going to be OK with just you two?” Lucy asks.

“We should start right after dawn breaks,” you say, “when the ghost is at his weakest. What can go wrong?” It will turn out later the answer to that is simple: everything.

taglist: @helpmelmao, @simrah1012, @chloejaniceeee, @fox-bee926, @frogserotonin, @obsessed-female, @avelinageorge, @quacksonhq, @wordsarelife, @bilesxbilinskixlahey, @che-che1, @breadbrobin, @anxiousbeech, @charmingpatronus, @starcrossedluvr, @yourunstablegf, @grccies, @sisyphusmymuse, @ettadear, @a-candle-maker

#lockwood show #lockwood books #lockwood & co #l&c #lockwood x reader #lockwood x you #lockwood x y/n #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood #lockwood netflix #lockwood and co reader #reader isnert #lockwood and co reader insert #phill.l&c

[loiteringdragon]

Currently typing out the spicy scene, hell it’s the whole chapter, for my Xiao fic and oh boy oh boy am I excited for it ~~~~

#xiao x reader #xiao #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #reader isnert

[becquerelnoir]

honestly i think im just salty b/c while yeah we def need to tag and filer our reader isnert content but also the way people who don't like said content remind me of like, back when i would acutally write and draw my cringy self isnert content and post it?

i like them. i much prefer writing/shipping self insert characters or ocs but even my self inserts are just reader inserts focused on me

but they are very much going the way the mary sue oc has. i don't like sharing my ocs or self inserts as much as I did as a teen/younger adult b/c they were dragged all in like every internet space from online forums to fanfiction and forums. and they were cringy but most of it was something the writer/artist had fun with

and not to mention how your oc or YOU were treated if you shipped your oc/yourself with a character who was in a popular ship (esp a yaoi ship) and so many teenage girls and young adults were made a spectacle of for the sin of 'well this character loves me/my oc.'

and i guess i don't want reader insert writers/artists etc to be treated the way we were?

like yes please, PLEASE tag your reader insert stuff. that both makes it easier for people who want it to find and consume the content but also it, at least on this site, will make the tags cleaner for people who ony want some content without the reader isnert stuff

also ooc STILl isn't bad just b/c he wouldn't say that in canon doesn't mean an artists fantasy needs to be dragged by you. if its not harming anyone then who cares?

also for you reader insert bois and gills, make ocs. ship them. tbh when i got ito homestuck i was shocked at how little ppl at one point did because i remember reading at one point that not doing it was a unwritten rule. but dang if i didn't want to ship ocs with canon. because tis fun. its all fake.

idk this isn't really there for reblogging i'm just rambling. just be kind to each other. stop being a dick over stuipd petty things

and also yes make self isnerts and ocs, reader inserts are fun but listen the POWER you get when you just...make ocs and serlf inserts and use them

i

i should really take my own advice there

#but seriously this is more a personal post to get thoughts #DON'T REBLOG

[head-empty-only-sunshine]

Moondrops for the Soul

Moon X Reader

A/N: this came from a very real place and i apologize

Description: Sleep is hard to come by for you. Insomnia is a bitch. thankfully, you have a loving partner to help you.

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, depression, insomnia, self hatred, reader has no occupation, gn!reader

Word Count: 2112

These late nights were really starting to get on your nerves. You were beyond lethargic the entire day thanks to an awful night’s sleep, and that ended up forcing you to stay late to finish your tasks. Time had become an obsolete construct as you droned away at your work, completely unaware that it was almost lockdown time. By the time you gathered your things in hopes of going home to get a suitable amount of sleep, the doors had shut; right in your face too. It was a rather mocking gesture to you; to have the door close oh so rudely before you and bar you from exiting the Pizzaplex. To say you were frustrated would be an understatement. You were downright pissed.

Staring down the painted shutters with a death glare so strong you could’ve melted through them, you turned around and headed for the one place you had left to go to in this obnoxiously large establishment. The daycare was the only place you might find solitude, and hopefully some sleep. Defeated by time, you trudged onward to the daycare, hoping to meet your lovely robot partner and have his assistance with knocking out for the night. You were clocked out. Management wouldn’t care, right?

The time in which it took you to march on over to the daycare was perfect in nature. As soon as you laid a hand on the grand door that was the entrance, Moon was found standing on the other side, about to go out for a patrol. He looked confused for a moment, thinking you had already gone home by now. The tired look on your face said otherwise, and you were already spewing out your situation before he had to ask.

“Got locked in. Lost track of time. Can I sleep here tonight?” You asked with a scratchy voice.

“Tsk, naughty~. Staying past your schedule huh?” He teased, bending down to your level.

“Not the time, Moon. I’m so tired. Please, let me sleep here tonight. I don’t wanna pass out by a fake palm tree.” You begged now, too tired to entertain his teasing like you usually would.

Moon sighed and decided to quit playing. After a quick scan of your vitals and catching a glimpse of your violent eyebags he deemed you way too unfit to be kidding around with. Worry instantly took over his systems as he wasted no time picking you up, cradling you bridal style in his arms.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, starlight. Let me bring you up to our room so you can get some sleep.”

“Ugh, thank you.” You groaned.

Happy to have been taken seriously, you allowed Moon to whisk you away to the upper quarters of the daycare where he or Sun resided after hours and between other things. Their room was cozy as always, and you hoped it would be enough to get you to knock out. He gently placed you down in their hammock, and you responded in tune by throwing your bag off your body and onto the floor next to it.

“Thank you. I really hope you don’t mind.” You said once more.

“Notin a million years. You’re welcome to stay here whenever you want for as long as you want.” Moon reassured you. “Will you be okay though? I noticed in my scan that you… well, you aren’t doing too great. You’ve been overworking yourself again… haven’t you?”

“I have been. I didn’t mean to though, I swear.” You nodded.

“I believe you, starlight. I just wanna know if you’re going to be alright. I still have nightly patrol to go on, so I can’t stick around much longer right now.” He said softly.

“I’ll be okay. I have a change of clothes in my bag. It’s not like I can get out anyway.” You chuckled, remembering the shutter closing in your face.

“Alright. I’ll be back then. Get some rest, starlight.” Moon nodded, giving you a tight squeeze for a hug before leaping from the window to resume his duties.

Though you wished you could give him an assured ‘yes’ for an answer, you couldn’t. You had a feeling that this night would not be kind to you, and insomnia would poke its head into your business again. Regardless of that possibility, you gave it a good shot and pulled your spare clothes out of your bag on the floor and changed in the hammock, now clad in a shirt and shorts that were much comfier than your uniform. With yourself all sorted you laid yourself back in the hammock, pulled up the blanket that rested at the end of it, and closed your eyes with the best intentions to fall asleep. You were so exhausted, so you were sure to knock out immediately, right?

… Right?

===

Hours. Hours, hours, HOURS. Hours had gone by, and not a wink of sleep was granted to you. Moon was still gone, most likely on an extended patrol in places without power. The time was well past three in the morning, and you had been locked out at midnight. Sleep had not come, and your eyes felt like they were caving into your skull. It was slowly killing you inside, and by now, all you could do was cry.

“Why can’t I just sleep…” You muttered to yourself.

Silent tears fell down your cheeks as you wondered why your tired body still fought against the compulsion to sleep. It made no sense. Why couldn’t you escape this painful fatigue? You were about to start sobbing over it when the sound of Moon ascending on the fly line made your breath catch in your throat. He was back, but he couldn’t know how weak you were right now. With all your might, you attempted to stop the tears and hope he wouldn’t notice, or at least think you had fallen asleep. Unfortunately, it was impossible for him to not notice. It was in his programming, after all.

Moon cautiously approached you in the hammock, not wanting to be so forward. You hid under the blanket, but according to his scans, you were wide awake. He was worried, and wanted the best for you, so he gingerly nudged the side of the hammock and called out to you, hoping you were at least a little okay.

“Starlight… I know you’re not sleeping.”

Silence.

“Starlight please, maybe I can help?” He spoke again.

The blanket rustled, and you finally poked your head out. There was no point in hiding honestly, so the first thing Moon saw was your tear streaked face. He instantly went into care mode and knelt by the hammock, hands holding your face as concern took over his own expression.

“What’s wrong? Please tell me…”

“I can’t sleep. I can’t. I just… I can’t.” You mumbled, quite frustrated with yourself.

“Oh dear I’m… I’m so sorry. How long have you been awake?” He asked.

“Almost a full day. You can see it. I know you can. My eyebags are deeper than any gulf. But my body… It won’t let me go in peace.” You whimpered, getting more and more upset the longer you spoke.

“Insomnia?”

You nodded. “If I’m being honest, I just want to stop existing. I don’t know why my body won’t let me sleep. I hate this. I want nothing more than to just fall asleep and cease to exist.”

“Oh starlight.” He said softly, wiping away a tear with his thumb.

“This insomnia is killing me. It takes away the control I have over my own body. It keeps me from my safe space in my mind, and forces me to remain conscious in this body. I don’t even like this body. Why am I forced to exist with it? I hate it.”

You had gone off on a tangent, the overwhelming thought of being unable to control your own body angering you to your breaking point. You didn’t mean to, but you spilled your troubles before Moon as tears streamed down your face. As you sobbed, Moon had moved himself into the hammock with you, sliding under the blanket and embracing you in the warmest hug he could offer.

“I’m so sorry moonbeam. I’m sorry you have these struggles, and I’m sorry you feel this way.” He sympathized, cradling you against him.

“I just want to stop existing sometimes. I don’t like being forced awake when I don’t want to be.” You mumbled, accepting his embrace.

His grip tightened on you, in an almost fearful manner.

“If it’s any help, Sun and I would be devastated if you ceased to exist. We can’t imagine a life without you. We love you so much… and I know this is just words I’m offering, but you mean the world to us. You fight for us, and love us. You’re our foundation, and we would never wish any harm upon you.” Moon consoled, gently stroking the back of your head.

No one had ever really said such kind things to you before. The feeling of the soft padding on his hands brough you comfort, and his nails gently scratching your scalp relaxed you. His touch was intoxicating, and made you firmly believe that this moment was okay. It was fine to feel the way you did, and you were safe to be this vulnerable before him. You took in his words in the silence, and he accepted the silence as you agreeing with him. Your heart rate gradually slowed, and the longer you sat there with him, the more calm you were. The breaths you released were no longer shaky after a while, and you let out a big sigh of relief once you considered yourself comfortable enough to speak.

“Do you… have any moondrop candies left?” You asked.

“I do. I was honestly going to suggest it to you, if you were okay with it.” He nodded.

You nodded, insisting that you wanted the sedative melatonin filled candy. After a moment, Moon popped said candies out of the palm of his hand, having stored a few in the empty cavity beneath the padding. He offered you three, one above the standard adult dosage for moondrop candies. You took all three without question, desperate for the sweet solace of sleep. When his hand was free, Moon returned to holding you tightly, now lying down with you in the hammock.

The wait was on for the candies to kick in. You preferred silence in this moment, so he remained quiet while waiting for the candy to kick in. With gentle caresses and soft humming, both of you waited for the candy to do its job and bring you the peace of rest. As time passed, your heart rate slowed, along with your breathing, the candy taking effect.

“Moon… It’s working.” You mumbled.

‘It is? I’m glad.”

“Before I pass out though… I want you to know something. You mean… The world to me. I mean it. You’re so… nice, kind, and warm. I might actually sleep good for once in my life with you by my side.” You said softly.

Moon did not say anything. You were quick to pass out after those words, an expression of relief falling upon your face once your slumber had come to you. Moon sighed, happy to see you finally at ease. He couldn’t leave now. Not after all you had said. He was moved, and wanted to remain with you as a soft blue blush took over his complexion.

Moon paged management through his system, updating them on the situation. He would no longer be continuing his nightly patrols, and requested a security guard cover his sectors tonight. You were far more important right now, and it was so rare that he got to cuddle you so closely. Once he received a confirmation, Moon snuggled up to your sleeping form and let out a gentle mechanical sigh. Your sleeping face was so peaceful. Despite the deep eyebags and signs of crying, you were so beautiful to him.

For the first time in a very long time, Moon went into sleep mode. This was a mode so rarely entered he almost forgot he had it. But here with you, he could use it. He was safe to do so. Your heart was his, and you needed him. With peace in the room, Moon gently shut down, his fans reducing to the gentlest of whirrs as he rested alongside you, holding you close against his frame. Your steady breaths were rhythmic enough to lull him into his own state of rest.

It was about time both of you had a moment of peace anyway.

#moon x reader #moondrop x reader #fnaf #fnaf fan fiction #fnaf security breach #security breach x reader #fnaf x reader #moon #moondrop #fan fiction #reader isnert #hurt/comfort #fluff #depression #self hatred

[sofreddie]

Sam's Brat

Summary: Y/N pissed off Sam and must now endure the consequences.

Characters: Sam x Petite!Female!Reader

Warnings: PWP, Spanking, Smut (Vaginal Fingering, Unprotected Sex), Size Kink

Sam Winchester Bingo: Size Kink (@samwinchesterbingo)

Any Fandom Kink Bingo: Brat Taming (@anyfandomkinkbingo)

WC: 977

A/N: A little Sam smut anyone? A little scene that popped in my head and wouldn't leave until I wrote it out. Enjoy. : )

Sam forced Y/N face down on the small motel dining table. Her skirt-clad ass in the air, he held her bent, one hand pressed in between her shoulder blades to keep her still. He raised his other hand high, delivering a harsh slap to her raised ass.

“Never listen!” Sam growled.

Y/N cried out, his large hand connecting with both cheeks of her small, pert behind. With her bent position, her already too-short skirt had lifted, leaving her only protection her thin panties. Before she could fully comprehend the sting of the first smack, another and then another fell upon her.

“Such a brat, doing whatever you want! I tell you things for a reason!”

She tried to squirm, crying out from the burning sting, but was held firmly in place by an angry and determined Sam. She'd never seen him like this before. He was pissed.

Sam's hand paused on her behind, feeling the heat from her skin from the spanking. Curious, he gingerly pulled his hand away, finding the culprit for the dampness on the side of his palm. He could see, clear as day, the wetness soaking through her underwear.

"You like me spanking you, Y/N?" Sam asked, his voice dangerously low.

Y/N whined once more, feeling embarrassed that he knew she was wet. She couldn't help it. Although the spanking hurt, Sam's angry handling, and rough treatment stirred something deep within her. Sam ran his fingers teasingly against the moistened fabric, groaning as Y/N's hips canted in response. Using the hand still on her ass, he tugged her panties to the side. Holding them in place, he used his other hand to drag a finger along her wet folds.

"Sam," Y/N whimpered pathetically.

Sam smirked, though she couldn't see from her position. He hooked his finger, playing with her clit and listening to her moans. Her hips jumped and moved, trying to get more friction. Sam licked his lips, slipping a single, long digit inside of her tight channel.

Y/N gasped as Sam moaned, beginning to thrust his finger in and out. He added a second finger as she got wetter, hooking them until he found her soft, spongy spot. Y/N cried out, and Sam grinned. He thrust two fingers in and out of her channel at a rapid place, pressing against her spot on every pass as his thumb rubbed tight circles on her clit.

She came hard, her body vibrating with the force as she gushed against Sam's large hand. Sam's desire became an imminent need as she came for him. As he continued to work her through her high, he undid his pants, shifting them down enough to free his achingly hard cock.

As she came down from her euphoric and intense high, Y/N could feel and hear the tearing of fabric as Sam disposed of the last barrier between himself and what he wanted.

"Spread your legs," Sam commanded, gently kicking at the inside of her foot to nudge her legs wider apart.

The action sent her forward onto her elbows and up on the tips of her toes to accommodate. She felt the head of his cock running through her slick and pressing against her clit before he swiftly slid inside.

Y/N clenched her eyes shut, her hands balled into fits as she tried to adjust to Sam's enormous cock. He slowly slid back before pressing in once more, deeper than before, until she literally could take no more of him.

Sam hissed, looking down and seeing Y/N spread wide around his girth. He already felt like he was going to cum, her tight, wet heat squeezing him deliciously. She was so fucking tiny.

He began to move his hips, thrusting shallow but firm at first, letting her fully adjust to the feel of him inside of her. After watching himself glide in and out with ease, Sam leaned forward, planting his hands on either side of her on the table, increasing his pace.

"That's it, Baby," Sam moaned into her ear, nipping at her shoulder as he gradually moved faster and faster. "Take my cock so well."

She couldn't speak, words lost to her as she could only feel. Sam was so big, so deep inside of her. It felt like he might split her in two, but there was no pain to go with it. Only mind-melting pleasure. A few more thrusts and she was dropping her head, screaming out her pleasure as she came for Sam once more.

"Fuck yes," Sam moaned in approval, working her through her high. "Gonna fuck you good and hard now," an ominous promise.

He repositioned himself, spreading his own legs wider. Planting his hands on Y/N's shoulders for leverage, he rocked hard and fast against her. Y/N let out a near-constant stream of moans and pleas as Sam fucked her hard, the sounds of their skin slapping echoing in the room, making her skin sting more than the spanks had before.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," Sam announced with a deep growl.

He leaned forward once more, one hand wrapping around to fondle her small breasts, the other finding her clit and rubbing harsh, fast circles against the throbbing nub.

"Cum with me," Sam begged, his breath panting hot against her neck. "Come on, Baby. Cum for me."

As if on command, Y/N came once more, clenching hard around Sam's cock. He shouted, in near pain at the tightness. His hands clamping down around her, Sam emptied himself within her pulsing core, his hips pumping erratically with each spurt of hot cum.

Stumbling back, Sam removed himself from her, watching as his cum dripped from her stretched pussy. He licked his lips as he tucked himself away. Maybe now she'd understand that she belonged to him.

Forevers:

@sis-tafics

@lyarr24

@calaofnoldor

@hobby27

@spnbaby-67

@fangirlxwritesx67

@jarpad24

@flamencodiva

@donnaintx

@wonder-cole

Sam Winchester:

@charred-angelwings

#sam's brat #samwinchesterbingo #any fandom kink bingo #sam x petite!female!reader #sam x reader #reader isnert #superntural #spn #sam winchester

[chilling-in-the-dark]

The Superfam as Yandere’s Part 2: Jon Kent

This is a yandere story; it mentions elements of obsession, possessiveness, death, murder, kidnapping, and physical abuse. If any of this is triggering for you, I understand, and you don’t have to read it.

As always feedback is welcomed.

You’d tripped and grabbed on to fourteen-year-old Jon Kent’s upper arm to catch yourself, and when your hand made contact, Jon felt the place you’d touched start to burn. Oh, oh. Oh shit, he thought when he realized exactly what had just happened, how is it he could know you for four years, and yet today was the first time you’d touched him.

After all, you were the daughter of Dick Grayson, younger sister to Mary Grayson. Your father was like another Dad to Damian, so of course, you spent a lot of time with him, and by extension, Jon. Damian was five years older than you, and though his real title was your uncle, he thought of you more as a little sister.

Damian was extremely protective, and Jon knew that even if he couldn’t help it, Damian would never forgive him for being your soulmate. So, he’d kept it quiet, only he didn’t need to, Damian knew and had come to the decision that so long as the Kryptonian didn’t act on the soulmate thing, then everything would be fine. Besides, Damian was busy enough with his own darling, he didn’t have time to worry about something that Jon knew better than to let happen.

To make matters worse, finding out you were his soulmate had brought up memories of Jon’s late mother. When she’d first disappeared, his father had told him that she’d been sick and that his mom was getting help, so if they were lucky, she’d be home with them soon. Jon had believed him, but as it turned out, his father was a liar, his mother wasn’t going to be back with them soon, no, she’d die in some medical mishap.

At least that’s what Clark had told him, it wouldn’t be until much later that Jon found out the truth, but that wasn’t to come not for a few years at least.

Suddenly, Jon had the urge to make you his and keep you that way. Jon hadn’t really had a conversation with his father since his mother died, maybe it was wrong of Jon to blame Clark, but he really didn’t care, his mother was dead, and his father had let it happen.

The possessiveness was because of Kryptonian instinct, at least that’s what the computer in the fortress of solitude had said, Jon would have asked his father, but he found himself avoiding home these days unable to look Clark in the eye without feeling some level of rage.

Jon fought his instincts for as long as he could, but when you were fourteen, and he was sixteen, suddenly he couldn’t anymore. According to his research into mate bonds, this was normal for someone in his situation, he was nearing the age of maturity, and it would start to affect his behavior with his mate. There was no fighting his instincts entirely, so he gave into them in small ways like lending you his jacket when a sudden cold breeze blew by, it helped him control the worst parts of him, the ones that really wanted to keep you by his side forever no matter the cost.

Jon loved the way you looked in his jacket it was like you were basically drowning in the fabric, but more importantly, he loved that it told the world you were his, but then he’d have to remind himself that you weren’t, that you couldn’t be, and that he couldn’t have you because that would be betraying his best friend.

It hadn’t taken Jon long to figure out you liked the slight accent growing up in rural Kansas had gifted him. He found himself playing it up slightly when you were around, he really couldn’t help it, the Kryptonian part of him knew you found it attractive, and it wasn’t going to let a chance to win you over pass him by.

It happened with other things too, like how Jon kept waring that blue flannel you said brought out his eyes, whenever he knew you were going to be around, and how he kept his hair in the cut and style he knew you liked. Sometimes Jon felt like a damn animal nearly shouting, hay look at me I’m healthy and attractive, want to spend the rest of your life with me.

If Damian noticed his friend preening like a peacock for you, he didn’t say anything, then again Damian had been busy with his wife, so he could be forgiven for it, and besides, with Damian busy you’d been spending more one on one time with Jon, and he was living for it.

So much so that Jon kept having to remind himself to slow down, he may have been sixteen, and more than ready to start dating, but you were only fourteen, and Kryptonian instincts be damned he wasn’t going to hurt you by going too fast.

Jon had sworn a vow to himself to keep you safe, no matter the cost, if it meant your safety then Jon would gladly die himself, heck he’d kill the whole planet if it really came down to it. You were everything to him, and in a way, how much his world revolved around you scared him a little. It would be easy to lose himself down that rabbit hole.

When Jon was eighteen he tried to quit you like a drug, avoiding you at all costs, by the end of the week he felt like he was dying, by the end of the month, Jon felt worse than any form of Kryptonite had ever made him. Even the thought of moving hurt, Jon couldn’t see straight if he wanted to, and if he was a guessing person, Jon would say he was running a fever too, judging by the fact that he couldn’t get warm.

Of course, Clark knew what was going on, so long as you were alive, Jon wouldn’t be able to stay away from you, or his body would start fighting him, and if you passed before the two of you had children, Jon would surely wither and die himself. The only reason Clark had survived the death of his wife was because a piece of her still lived on in Jon.

So, wanting to keep that piece of his wife alive Clark did the one thing he knew would save his son, he made up an excuse to leave the planet and called Dick, Clark had told your father about you and Jon as soon as he figured it out himself. Of course, Dick hadn’t been happy about a Kryptonian loving his daughter because the only soulmate bond they had record of was Clarks, and that hadn’t ended well. Though in the end, Dick had decided that he wasn’t going to stand in the way.

Sure, that might have been because while Dick had Mary wrapped around his finger, he didn’t have you because you’d seen with your own eyes how your father treated your mother behind closed doors. Dick wanted you out of the way because you knew far too much, so he didn’t even question when Clark asked you to go to the Kent farm. If you never came back, it would just mean Dick didn’t have to worry about what you knew, or how you could take his wife away from him.

You’d been concerned when Clark called and asked you to look after Jon while he was off-world. Kryptonians were supposed to be immune to earth illnesses, but when you looked at Jon, you started to question that belief.

You pressed your hand to Jon’s forehead to confirm what you already suspected; he was burning up. According to Clark, he’d already tried all of the human fever reducers he could find, and none of them seemed to work. So you’d had to settle for the old school method of bringing down a fever, a cold washcloth on the forehead. After you’d placed it on Jon’s head, he grabbed your hand, pulled it to his cheek and nuzzled into it, you could have sworn you heard him slur the word mine as he did so.

Jon said a lot of things like that for the first couple of days, and you weren’t sure if he meant them or if he was delirious from his fever, but you kind of hoped for the former because over the years you’d fallen in love with him.

Loving Jon made you feel like you were living in some teen soap opera, Damian used to be like a brother to you until you found out that he knew what Dick was doing to your mom, but he did nothing to stop it, and Jon was Damian’s best friend, that was prime drama material. Still, you’d decided that if Jon ever gave you a clear indication that he returned your affections, you’d take him up on it.

Only you couldn’t tell if feverish ramblings counted as a clear sign, on the one hand, he’d rambled for twenty minutes about how pretty your eyes were at one point, but on the other hand that had been when he still had a fever and kept calling water earth juice. So you should probably have discarded anything he said during his entire illness, but you couldn’t bring yourself to.

Jon had been better for a few days now, and you really should have gone home, but this was a nice break from your life in Gotham. Honestly, if it wasn’t for the fact that you were only sixteen, you might have never gone home.  As it stood, you were still under eighteen, and eventually, you’d have to go home, but today was not that day. Until Clark came back, you were going to enjoy your little domestic heaven with Jon.

“Breakfast smells good,” Jon mumbled as he stumbled down the stairs, obviously still half asleep. You hadn’t expected Jon to come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist as you cooked, but he did. It was at that moment that you decided to throw caution to the wind because you just didn’t hold someone like he was holding you if you didn’t have feelings for them.

You turned around in Jon’s arms and wrapped your arms around his neck to bring his lips to yours, the kiss was perfect just like everything else about the person in front of you. Jon would have been content to stay like that forever, but unlike him, you needed to breathe, so he didn’t fight you when you pulled away from the kiss.

Jon wasn’t sure what had come over him as you pulled away, but all he could think was mine, mine, mine, mine, to the point he found himself growling, “You’re mine.” As he pulled you right up against him.

“I’m yours,” You confirmed, as you pulled him in for another kiss, If you’d grown up in a healthy family the blatant show of possessiveness might have freaked you out, but you hadn’t, so honestly you found it romantic. Red flags might as well have been green lights to you, and in a way, you were lucky you’d fallen in love with Jon at least he wasn’t like Dick. Jon would never hit you like Dick did your mother.

It was later that night that Jon explained the whole soulmate thing, and for the first time in his life, he felt truly content as he slept because he had you in his arms.

It was a week later when Damian showed up, he’d been worried about both you and Jon, he was concerned about Jon because if you weren’t back, that meant there was a possibility Jon wasn’t improving. Still, Damian was also worried about you because what if Jon had gotten better and wasn’t letting you leave. Damian had seen how well those supposed soulmate bonds, worked out in the end.

Out of all the scenarios Damian expected to find, one of them hadn’t been you, and Jon snuggled up on the couch watching a movie. Damian had never felt so betrayed, his best friend and his niece together, he wanted to puke.

You smiled as you curled up into Jon’s side; part of you hoped that Clark would never come back because you’d been happier than you had been in years. That is until Damian kicked the door in and charged Jon with a sword and a shard of Kryptonite. Without thinking, you threw yourself in front of Jon, and in turn, Jon threw himself over you, shielding you from shielding him.

Damian found Jon’s willingness to die for you admirable; it still wouldn’t be enough to win him over, no it’d take a lot more than that, but maybe he was worth a chance. Damian put the Kryptonite away into a special lead-lined pouch on his utility belt after he’d done that Jon felt his strength return.

Jon shoved you behind him and glared at Damian. “If you ever hurt her, I can and will end you, do you understand me Kryptonian,” Damian said as he placed the tip of his sword to Jon’s throat.

“Yeah I do, and I would never hurt her, I love her.”

“Your father said the same thing about his wife, and yet he drove her to suicide.” Damian proclaimed venom dripping from his words.

After learning the truth about his mother's death, Jon sent you off with Damian, he called you every day only to ask you to return a week later, as soon as you set foot on the Kent farm Jon dropped down on one knee and proposed. You gladly said yes, and with your parent's permission, got married.

You never questioned why Clark hadn’t returned from space, and it was a good thing you hadn’t because Jon didn’t feel like explaining that his father had returned, but he’d died not long after.

Had Jon killed him? It was possible because, after all, it would have avenged his mother and secured a beautiful, peaceful life for the two of you. All you knew is that after you were married, Jon mostly retired from superheroing. Only going out when absolutely necessary, because he was content to be a farmer for the rest of his life, so long as you were by his side.

A/N I’m not even sure if Jon came off as Yandere in this tbh, Jon in my head is a much softer Yan then the rest, so overall, my usual amount of skin-crawling creep factor isn’t here, but shrug emoji. Also, Yes, Conner was supposed to be next, but that didn’t end up happening.

Tags:

@yanderepeterparker​ @idkmanicantenglish​ @prettyafghan @neon-phosphorecsent​

#Yandere DC #yandere damian wayne #yandere dc comics #Yandere superfam #Yandere jon kent #yandere jon #yandere kent #Yandere #yandere x reader #x reader #Yandere Jon kent x reader #Yandere kent x reader #yandere superboy #dark dc #dark fic #Dark dick grayson #reader isnert #reader is dick graysons daughter #death tw #tw

[that1britishperson]

Another World (Corpse x Reader) PLATONIC- Masterpost:

support corpse by streaming his songs

hi, i have really been a simp for this man since his days of telling spooky stories and i am soooooooo happy that he is finally getting the recognition that he most definitely deserves. and i realised that there is not that many fanfiction about him (maybe he said it made him uncomfortable and i just missed it?) but the dilemma is that i am only 17 and he is 23 and since that is a six year age difference, i just figured it would be best to write about him in a platonic way.

however if he says that fanfiction makes him uncomfortable then i won't be writing about him anymore. and since my family isn't really there as much as i want them to be, i hope you all don't mind if i write him being like an older brother/very close friend, since it'll make me feel better ahaha.

this fanfic will contain fake accounts such as the ones below.

this is your twitter account;

(i am not sure if the twitch/insta and twitter usernames are real but if it is yw for the free clout.)

and your insta;

as writing this post, the first chapter is undergoing serve editing as i wrote it with 10 minutes of sleep and in class but we dont need to go that far 😄

i do not know how many chapters it will have but i have 3 planed. i will put the link in the correct spot as soon as i post it.

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

more coming soon.

i am currently writing this on my phone, so yahh

#corpse husband #corpse x reader #corpse simp #corpse fic #corpse imagines #reader isnert #reader is female #im sorry #reader is famous #sykkuno #jacksepticeye #i am a simp #Spotify #SoundCloud

[randomfandomimagine]

Can I request a comfort fluff with Leon Kennedy, maybe the reader has an anxiety or panic attack at a pumpkin patch because of too many people being there? Prompts from list #2: 55. “Let me hold you for a bit longer” + 46. “Of course, I’d do anything for you” + 37. “I don’t deserve you." Thank you so much! 💖

I suppose you meant this as a Halloween request, but I prefered to focus on the prompts and make it a normal request, hope you don’t mind. In any case, thank you so much for requesting and I hope you enjoy it 😄

Leon Kennedy x Gender Neutral Reader

_

It came out of nowhere, threatening to end your life in the blink of an eye. Even knowing the possible danger, you hadn’t been quick enough to react. You had become frozen, unable to reach out for your gun to defend yourself. Luckily, though, Leon was there with you and he didn’t hesitate to step up and protect you. In your state of shock you barely registered how he moved in a rush, fired his weapon and eliminated the threat.

“Y/N!” Leon exclaimed, hurriedly standing before you. “Are you okay?!”

You gaped at him, staring at the motionless zombie behind him. He had to shake you slightly to make you look at him. When you did, you found with his piercing eyes worriedly locked on you.

“Y-Yeah” You managed, although your voice was shaky. “I’m... I’m okay”

Leon sighed in relief and urgently took you in his arms, desperately squeezing you against him. Despite his nervousness, his warmth slightly calmed your shivering. You nuzzled his shoulder, clinging on to the comfort he provided you with.

“You scared me so much...” He whispered against your hair, lightly pressing his lips against it to leave a kiss in your head.

“I’m alright” You assured, more firmly this time. “It’s okay, Leon”

You tried to break away, but his hold on you only tigthtened. Still a little scared, you let out a nervous chuckle and patted his back. Leon shook his head and tightened his arms around you.

“Let me hold you for a bit longer” Resigned with his words, you got comfortable aginst him. It was then when you heard his heart hammering under his chest as  your ear pressed against it.

“Thanks, Leon” You muttered, trying to comfort and calm him. He finally broke away, holding you by the arms and staring into your eyes. “You saved me”

“Of course, I’d do anything for you” The genuine tone of his voice made your heart warm, eliminating any lingering tension within you.

You knew that when he said ‘anything’, he really meant it. He would have died for you then and there if with that he ensured your safety.

“I don’t deserve you" You uttered, feeling emotional tears well up in your eyes.

“Of course you do, Y/N” Leon gently pullled you closer, pressing his hands against the small of your back. “You’re amazing and... I love you”

“Love you too” You leaned in, aiming for his lips. It felt silly to be kissing at that very moment, surrounded by danger as you still were, but as your mouths danced together, it felt right. Because it was just what the two of you needed at that moment.

Tag list: @call-me-harley-quinn​ / @wonderlandfandomkingdom​ / @mmikazukin / @disneymarina / @fortheloveofbenyandtom / @xionroxas / @guettaes / @mrshamada-dorian / @mattiekins / @trunks-kiwi // If you want to be added or taken off the tag list for these fandoms or characters, send me an ask!! // Feedback and reblogs are appreciated!

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #resident evil 2 #leon s kennedy #re #resident evil 2 remake #rfi writings #prompt #leon kennedy prompt #resident evil 2 prompt #reader isnert #requested #ask #non anon ask #non anon request

[mutt-stuff-archives]

Mates❥Mitsuri Kanroji

➳Mitsuri Kanroji x Fem! Reader

➳Words: 783

➳Genre: Oneshot, Drabble, Angst, Songfic

➳Warnings: KNY manga spoilers, Death

➳I’m always sad so here’s an oneshot I wrote surprisingly quick. Mitsuri’s always been a comfort character.

❥Recommended BGM: Mates by McCafferty

"[Y/N]-chan? Did... Did we win?" 

Your mouth opened to speak, only for your lip to quiver and a sob to rack your throat. Mitsuri's haggard breath came out as a wheeze as she tried her very best to move her body. She was trapped in your strong arms though, yet your strength weakened like seconds passing by on the clock. Eventually she did free her arm, trying her very best to reach up to your face. On the first try she miserably failed, the limb rising two inches before pathetically falling back to her side. On the second, she managed to grip onto your shoulder before it could fall again, reaching up to cup your tear soaked and bloodied face.

"We-- We won." You choked out as her thumb ran over the tears that cascaded down your cheeks, you smiled through it though, teeth brightened by the glimmering light of the sunrise, "We won, my love, Muzan has died."

The pinkette's eyes fluttered shut, a sigh of relief struggling to relieve itself from her lungs before she cracked the very best smile she could muster, "I don't feel any pain. This is what dying feels like, isn't it?"

"I'm dying as well." Was all that you muttered back, gagging and hunching yourself over your lover as you tried to hold back the blood that leaked down your lips.

"No--No, please don't die yet. I'm sorry I couldn't help you in the fight." She squeaked, gently squeezing your cheek like that would help you to stay alive.

Your own look of concern arrived, eyes widening as much as they can as your hands raised to clasp her face, "Please don't say that. Please, p-please! You did excellently. Do you... Do you remember the first time we met?"

"Yeah!" A hoarse bark of laughter escaped Mitsuri's throat, her familiar smile upturning at you, "Rengoku-sensei took you in as another tsuguko, you helped me so much."

"It's the other way around, darling. You helped me train, you helped me develop my style, you helped me become a hashira. You saved me."

"I guess I did..."

"Your smile made me the happiest I've ever been and you being my girlfriend made me continue living. I know you struggled to become a hashira, but no one would be able to tell. You made me feel normal, for once in my life," This time it was your turn to chuckle darkly hanging your head further down as it had become almost too heavy for your neck to handle, "I'm sure everyone else would agree. That cheerful soul you have, Mitsuri, it's saved so many people's lives. That's the truth, I won't let anyone say otherwise."

Suddenly Mitsuri almost yelled out a sob, jolting up to fall into your arms and hug you, even if it only lasted a moment, "I'm so... So happy! I care about you so much, [Y/N]! I should've married you earlier, I shouldn't have waited, I shouldn't have been afraid of what others think of us! Please, [Y/N], if we are reborn can I be your bride? No matter what people think of us?!"

"Of course." At first you whispered, repeating the simple answer over and over again before your voice came into a desperate plea, "Of course! I'll try my best to make you happy! I'll protect you with my life so you can't pass on. I'll get us a house just to your liking. I'll build it with my own two hands if I have to. You're my mate, forever and always."

"A house... Together..." Mitsuri parroted, eyes shutting once again as she smiled. Tears started to leak down both of your faces even faster at this point, hers clapping against the dirt as your own pattered against her cheeks.

"Yes! When the roof cracks, we'll fix it. If the pipes rust, we'll change them!" You inched even closer, gently bumping your sticky red forehead against hers as if to desperately keep her with you as much as you could, "And when your heart's old and it stops, mine will stop as well--"

You hacked relentlessly before you could finish, shooting back up as fast as you could, inevitably spitting blood over Mitsuri's already reddened uniform. She didn't seem to notice though, clumping your uniform's shirt in your hand as she hauled herself back up just to rest your head on your shoulder.

You lowered your head and kissed her, yet this was not like any other kisses you've shared with her. It was calming instead of fervent, yet passionate instead of cutesy and quick; Your vision fogged. You knew it wasn't from the tears and blood yet you didn't care, balling your fists up in Mitsuri's uniform fabric one last time as you shared your last goodbyes.

#mitsuri kanroji #mitsuri #mitsuri x reader #mitsuri x fem reader #x reader #x fem!reader #reader isnert #reader #you #x you #mitsuri x you #kny #demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #kny x reader #manga #anime #manga x reader #anime x reader #kny manga

[emcon-imagines]

Hey Em! ✨☀️✨ Congratulations on 300 followers! Could I please request a Drabble with Peter Parker and a girlfriend reader with the prompts 20. “Are you warm enough?” + 27. “Isn’t that my hoodie?” A bit of angst, but with a cute fluffy/romantic ending, please? ✨☀️✨Thanks so much!

gif // request a 300 followers prompt drabble! // a/n: i hope you like it anon!

You went there when you needed to get away from everyone else, climbing the stairs, and then the ladder to the roof, to the little hideaway you had created for just yourself, where you could stare at the city laid out beyond the apartment rooftop and just think. The winds were always fierce that high up, and it wasn’t nearby as comfortable as it was in the summer, but you stayed, sitting on the blanket you had spread out, empty iced coffee cup beside you, the ice hardly melted.

You jumped when you heard the roof door open, thinking it was your supervisor coming to kick you out, but instead you saw your boyfriend.

“Hey,” he said softly, walking over to great you. “Isn’t that my hoodie?”

“Uh... yup,” you said, glancing down at the Midtown School of Science and Technology logo across the front. You had hardly looked when you grabbed it.

“Are you warm enough?” 

You kept your hands balled up in fists inside the sleeves. “Yeah.”

“You sure?” Your boyfriend sat down next to you, used to a rooftop rendezvous, knowing that whenever you disappeared, this was where you went, and even though you wanted to be alone, it was when you needed someone the most. He put his arm around you, pulling you in close, and you instantly relaxed, realizing how much tension you had been holding in. “Bad day?” Peter murmured.

“Ummm...” you sighed. “More like a bad few weeks. School mostly. Just way too much I need to do, and everyone telling me what they think I should do... holding on until winter break, you know?” The words came out in a jumble, all in one exhale. “And even now, I feel like I should be doing something.”

“I get that,” Peter said. “Well, it’s Friday, so I think you can take one night off. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Come on,” he said, helping you up, folding the blanket and grabbing your empty cup. “Let’s go inside. We’ll watch something...”

“Brain rotting?” you asked, finally smiling, referencing your favorite shows to watch when times got tough.

“Exactly. May was just telling me about this awful reality show that’s on tonight. We can both turn off our brains for the night.” He stopped at the access door back downstairs, pushing your hair out of your face for a moment, before planting a soft kiss on your forehead. “You’re going to be all right,” he said.

#Anonymous #marvel #mcu #300 followers drabbles #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker drabble #reader isnert #mcu reader insert #marvel reader insert #spider man #spider-man x reader #spider man drabble

[helpinghanikan]

A little Help

Avengers (And Matt Murdock) x Reader

Sum: Not everything can be done by one person; from saving a life to fixing a problem, we all need a hand sometimes. 

AN: Gonna be honest, the Thor one sucks but I didn’t want to leave him out. I’m sorry. 

Steve Rogers:

           Somebody was finally smart enough to shoot Captain America in the legs. Bullet cutting through skin but not strong enough to break through his bones. Instead two shots lodging themselves in the thick of his calf and behind his knee. Enough to take him out for the moment, but in a few days he’d be walking again.

           This wasn’t in a few days, though. This was the same moment, when your man screamed and there was no but you and an empty parking garage to hear.

           It’s actually pretty funny to think about how you institutionally moved. Taking up the dropped shield that was used as nothing more then a prop that day, holding it in front of you and telling your man to get back.

           It was just supposed to be a few poses to finish up those education videos Steve promised to do. By the time both of you got away it was late at night and both your stomachs were rumbling.

           “I can see their boots, that’s it.” Steve says behind you.

           You’ve taken shelter between two cars. Steve flat on his back, trying to look under the car. You, holding the shield up while crouching on untrained legs. The vault door to Steve that could probably be taken out by anyone with above average training.

           “There’s only one? Is he coming?” You whisper, legs starting to quiver from the strain.

           “Yes,” Steve is whispering now. It’s hard to hear everything that he is saying. “Stay down, it’ll be okay.”

           Steve was only a half decent liar. Had you been looking at him he would have smiled. Try and confirm that everything is going to be okay, even with blood going through his fingers, he’d try and lie. And you would lie right back. Smile at him, nod and then do what you are going to do anyway.

           It wasn’t until the dickhead was close enough that you heard her shoes on the concrete. In that woman’s point of view, she probably only heard Steve’s breathing. Imaging how you were going to scream after she put metal through the Captain’s eye.

           You only saw the woman’s face without blood for a brief second. Long enough for the shield to bash forward and up, slamming against her nose. Breaking the thing and practically snapping it back into her head. Another hit, this one aimed, and she falls backwards. Clutching her face and screaming profanity.

           Steve was on the phone with help, finally getting to act the part of a civilian doing their best. While you got to be the hero, kicking Dickhead’s gun away and starting a small wrestle to keep her down. She wasn’t a hired or professional assassin by any means, just an extremist who didn’t seem to really know what she was killing for.

           Nothing you couldn’t sit on and keep from hurting anyone.

                                               --------------

Tony Stark:

         When you experiment on yourself you either become a brave idiot or the reason for a new safety manual. Somehow Tony has proven himself to be both. At least he has learned to have some sort of babysitter when he does these things.

           “You have life insurance right?” You ask over the intercom.

           “No one would accept me as a client,” Tony speaks through the experimental armor.

           His voice coming off as deeper, more static-y. Supposedly this was a going to be a special type of armor. Thick and tough enough that it would be used in the event of either going into the center of the earth, or into the sun. Consider all events that absolutely no one expects keep happening in this world, the idea wasn’t nearly as crazy as you’d think.

           He stands in the gray armor. Legs shoulder width apart, standing on a platform where five cannons of raw heat are waiting to be fired. All this was behind the thick booth you hid away in. Ready to turn the dial, colors ranging from yellow to red, and then green.

           “You ready, Babe?” Tony asks.

           “I’m not the one about to become an oven, just say the word.” You reply, hand on the dial.

           “Let’s start slow, get an even roast going.”

           The dial starts to slowly leave the green range. Watching his helmet tilt up, ready to take the flames that starts slowly, then burst out faster then water as it increases.

           It’s hard to see the armor while staring through the glass. What you were watching wasn’t even glass. It was a screen showing the feed from cameras outside the box. Positioned just enough so it seemed to be glass. It was safer this way, basically being in another room from the lava Tony calls flames.

           “How are you doing?” You have to practically yell.

           “Getting a little toasty, still looking good, though!” He yells back.

           That optimism only lasted for a few seconds before your ‘glass’ started to get wonky.

           “Still looking good?” You ask.

           There was no response, but there was static.

           “Tony?”

           More static.

           The dial was immediately dialed back to green. Even pushing harder as though that would cool it down faster. Unfortunately, there was no override code to get out of the box, you could leave but you could not enter the heat chamber, not until it cools enough.

           That didn’t stop you from pulling on the door. Like when your mom isn’t fast enough unlocking the car and your passive aggressively demanding to be let in. Only in this case you were yelling at the computer when it would respond with “please be patient while the chambers cools.”, “please be patient while the chamber cools”, “please be patient while the chamber cools”, “please-,”

           “Shut the FUCK up!” you scream at the automated voice.

           Eventually the voice finally stopped, a little chirping beep and your were right into the chamber. Although cooled to acceptable degrees you were still slapped with the heat after only going in a few steps. “Hang on, hang on,” You’re yelling at nothing. Jerking your free hand away from the metal that was already messing with you just by being close. “Tony, hang on.”

           The helmet was the easiest part of the armor to remove. Your hands are singed by trying to grab it. Having to pull it quickly and tossing it just as fast across the chamber.

           How many could say that they know how a baked potato feels? Well, you can add Tony to that list. His entire face was flushed, a nice pink color. Between gasps and pants he looked up at you, nodding his head to your silent questions.

           He gave one thumbs down. The universal sign that the armor would need more work.

                                              --------------

Thor:

           If Thor didn’t have glasses before he should think about getting checked out soon. Staring so close to the phone his nose was practically touching it. Your eyebrows matched his, knitted together in both confusion and annoyance.

           Looking to Bruce was no help.

           “Yeah, that’s your turn.” He says, going back to his magazine.

           There was no way you were going to be able to look over his shoulder. Instead standing next to him and trying to catch a glance.

            “What are you trying to do?” you asked after several seconds of seeing nothing.

           “Trying to return to the game Bruce showed me.” Thor turns the phone towards you. “I accidentally went out and cannot return.”

           You’re staring at the home screen of his phone. Taking it in for a few seconds and then exclaiming. “This is not English; did you do this on purpose?”

           Thor shakes his head. “It was an accident when I was trying to return to the game. I can still read it, I do not know how to change it back, though.”

           “You have to go through, like, four screens. How did you do this on accident?”

           In the end it seemed you had a bigger problem with the phone then Thor did.

                                                --------------

Bucky Barnes:

         You sit with your legs spread on the living room floor. A black arm with gold lining resting between them, held up by one thigh so it’s hand is in the air.

           A mix of cleaning supplies sat on the coffee table next you. From glasses cleaner to car wax, you even dug around under the sink. This thing wasn’t like a pair of shoes that came with instructions on how to clean it. The only thing either you or Bucky knew for sure was “don’t put it in the washing machine,”. And even that was still up for discussion.

           “Thank you, for this.” Bucky says, a cool bottle gently nudging against your shoulder.

           He holds two ciders in his one hand. A small juggle when you take yours, but he had a handle on it. He wouldn’t be driving a car anytime soon, he still had the arm on most of the time, but he was getting the hang of it. This just meant any cleaning was up to other people. You being the only one who doesn’t want the story behind every little smudge on the thing.

           “I’m going to add this to my bill,” You say, poking at the very little gap between the plates dirt tends to find its way into. That it sometimes comes back as red you don’t think about it too much. “Minus a drink.”

           There’s a domestic bliss to this entire scene. Looking off to the side where Bucky sits in one of the living room chairs. His hair is finally short, his face shaven and his head tilted against his shoulder. There was something playing on the TV, but he wasn’t really watching it. Instead keeping his eyes quarter open to watch you.

                                              --------------  

Natasha Romanoff:

         It was a weird request but not weird enough to refuse. Rereading the text from the “unknown” number Nat insisted on being named in your phone.

           Do me a favor; get on the elevator, go down a floor.

           After a few seconds, not even long enough to get your shoes on, she sends another.

           Pretty please?

           You were on the second highest floor of your building. Walking out of it in the middle of the night, when you felt the need to tiptoe around your apartment.

           The walls were thankfully thick, but the doors were not. Through the wood you could hear TVs, talking, a few moans and one particular pair softly yelling. There had yet to be anything more then an argument from them, nothing that warranted intervention. When you walk past that door again you were likely to hear moans more then arguments.

           I got you. You sent back, hitting the elevator button and waiting.

           Natasha was a serious woman who cared about her friends and loved ones. She’s been on many, too many, missions and knows how to get in and out without being seen. The best way to get in and out without being noticed was to simply act like you belong. Although she is a very serious spy, she does like to have fun with her skills.

           You had to remind yourself of this when the top hatch of the elevator is popped open. First a pair of overpriced boots, then a beige jacket covered in black dirt and sludge, finally red hair and a smile without lipstick.

           You didn’t have to say or ask anything. Your face was enough for her to get the confusion.

           “I got stuck,” She says.

           “You got dirty. You know I can buzz you in, right?” You say, reaching past her, hitting your floor’s button. “Or I could open a window.”

           “Where’s the fun in that?” She asks, kissing your cheek and leaving a smudge.

                                              --------------

T’challa:

         In so many ways T’challa is on the same level as Steve Rogers. He couldn’t hold back a helicopter, but he could lap the world as good as him. Less experienced in military strategies, but his abilities aren’t any indications of that. And while you can hear Rogers walk down the hallway, it’s amazing the amount of times T’challa has made people jump out of their skin but just appearing next to them.

           But alcohol was where T’challa had to throw the towel. Something he had yet to do.

           “Does this even do anything to you?” You ask holding up the empty bottle.

           Rogers just shrug with a smile. Drinking down his glass, taking all that’s left of whatever they had been drinking. “I was hoping it would’ve worn off from the forties, guess not.”

           In one of the rare moments T’challa was in the states you typically wouldn’t be able to see him until the next morning. Getting a message from Rogers about a change of plans was a pleasant surprise. Seeing your man face first into a table was less so.

           “Can we borrow a room?” You ask, checking T’challa’s pulse.

           “There’s a guest room down the hall,” Steve says.

           T’challa was thick mess of muscle and dead weight. Too heavy to carry, just wrapping around your arms around his front, pulling him out of the chair. Struggling to keep him up enough for his feet to do their damn job.

           He’s hasn’t made any noise the entire struggle. When he finally looks at you he smiles, “hi,” he says. Face pressing into your shoulder, legs threatening to give up.

           With one arm over your shoulder and the other over Rogers T’challa leaned hard on your side. In his drunken haze he probably thought he was giving you a regular, charming, kiss on the cheek. Rather then the actual slobbering he was giving your neck.

           “Did I win?” He asks.

           You have to give the man credit. Being able to know what language to speak in even when he was off his ass drunk.

           “Yes, Dear, you wiped the floor with him.” You say, ignoring the smile Steve still had.

           An alcohol smelled breath blew into your ear. “Yay,” he says, pushing harder against you. If it weren’t for Steve both T’challa and you would have slumped into the wall.

           “I got it from here,” You say over T’challa’s shoulder after reaching the bedroom door.

           It was probably a bad idea to let Rogers off the hook so quickly. As soon as the door opened you stepped backwards to keep with the momentum. Taking a few more steps until you could safely toss him onto the bed. He landing with a groan, reaching back for a pillow or something equally soft to replace your absents.

           “I’m coming for James Barnes next,” He slurs against the pillow.

           “I’ll be sure to warn him.” You say, pulling both his shoes off. Tucking them under the bed.

           He didn’t hear you, already muttering in his sleep.

                                                --------------

Pietro Maximoff:

           Volunteers were gathered from every corner of S.H.I.E.L.D, those qualified or could even pretend to be qualified were grabbed and told to get on the ship. This was how you got pulled along with doctors and those who can lift over fifty pounds.

           ‘Do you know how to sew stitches?’

           ‘No…’

           ‘Do you know what gauze is?’

           ‘Yeah, I think so.’

           ‘Great, come on.’

           Although briefed on the ride in it was incredibly confusion after walking off. Essentially your job was to do what the people who knew what they were doing told you. You seemed to be the only one who made it more then a few steps before being grabbed. Left alone long enough to hear the somewhat-Russian-sounding language from the survivors and see the next ‘Life-boat’ returns with more survivors.  

           There are so many injured and panicked that you didn’t notice one being carried in. The agent carrying him had only to yell twice to get two doctors on him. One taking his shoulders the other his feet, setting him gently on the nearest bed.

           “Gauze and swabs, go.” One of the two doctors points at you while giving the order.

           Not being told how much was needed, you just grabbed an arm full of each from the shelves. Standing off the to the side, pretending to be a shelf to have it’s things taken from. A few arms even reached over your shoulder to grab what you were holding.

           The patient was a young man; his shirt cut open with surgical scissors, head tilted so far back it was almost off the table. His chest was hard to look at, with more craters then the moon, just a glance and your face was beginning to lose color. Luckily a shelf didn’t have to move, just stand still and stare. The moon moved with steady breathing. White turning red just by touching it’s surface that did next to nothing to change the color.

           The moon’s surface surged forward with a gasp. Silver hair fluffing with a hacking voice towards the ceiling of the ship.

           Neither of the doctors try to touch him. Whether it’s from their blood covered hands getting into his face, or that he could wreck what little sterile environment was made. Both pressing down on the wounds.

           “Now that he’s awake keep him that way.” The same doctor snapped. “Hey!”

           A little color has come back from being yelled at. Snapping your head towards her. Not saying that you understood but nodding when she jerks her head towards the patient.

           Another shelf took over your duties. Practically tossing the things onto it in passing, standing at the head of the table to look down at your patient.

           Just as the glance had told you, his hair was silver. Although you were right above him, he looked everywhere but you. Half-lidded eyes rolling back and forth across the room, his mouth moving but nothing coming out.

           “Hey, hi,” You whisper down to his.

           Your hands cup his head, now staring right up at you. The same wide-eyed look a cat has after being caught. He blinks just as slowly, only when you smile down at him.

           “Hey, you gotta stay awake. You gotta stay awake for me, okay?” You say.

           He now has a smile that matches yours. Staring up at you and beginning to talk softly, practically muttering with a dopey smile on his face. Even if you got closer and listened carefully you wouldn’t have been able to understand him. Resorting back to his mother language. You didn’t need to glance up to know that the happy drugs were just added.

           His arms are starting to move with his cheery talk. Just little wiggling that are stopped by the doctors. The man keeps trying to raise his head, trying to see what was keeping his hands down. Your hand gently pressing against his forehead, pushing it back down onto the bed. Now staring back up at you he speaks directly in his mother language.

           “Yeah, just stay awake. This will be fine,” You look down to the doctors. Now pulling stitching what could be done. “Everything is fine.”

                                                --------------

Peter Parker:

           If it weren’t for May you would have stayed longer. The plan was to pray to your respected deity that May had to stay late work, long enough that you “accidentally” fall asleep on the couch. And since it’s so late May invites you to spend the night, with your parents permission, forbidding you from Peter for the rest of the night. She’d then go into her room and you and Peter can continue.

           Instead May came home on time. Unintentionally ruing the moment when she opens the door. Intentionally making it worse by not bringing it up but just smiling at you and looking away when you look back. You lost the psychological war fare by proclaiming how late it was getting and that it was time to go.  

           Usually you left Peter’s before sundown or spend your little saving for a car or taxi. It was only a handful of times that Peter walked you home. The excuse you always gave was “then who’s going to walk you home after?”.

           Nine out of ten times walking in numbers is enough to be safe. There is always an exception that makes the rule, though. This is especially true when your bodyguard is a high school teenager in a science graphic tee.

           Grip on your hair and flash of metal more annoyed then terrified. You’d never say it out loud, but Peter was to blame for the situation. Taking you by the hand, guiding the both of you through an alley he claims to take all the time. It had seemed to be empty, only passing by a smoker at the entry way you didn’t look twice at.

           Dickhead mugger was loudly whispering to Peter. Trying to be quiet but also making sure you knew he was serious. All it really did was fill your ear with spit.

           You were really only half aware that Peter was looking at you during the hostage taking. Just as aware that his hand reached out although too far away to do anything physically. No offense to Peter but you had to help yourself.

           Although not heroic it’s always smart to scream when you’re under attack. Screaming to fit the situation you reached back to his face, finding the side of his head. Thumbs pressing deep and hard into his eye socket. Even as Dickhead screamed you kept pressing, pressing until something gave and you were let go.

           It was your turn to grab Peter’s hand after that. Running straight out from the alley, dragging your boy along with you. Making it past the subway until Peter urged you to slow down.

           You weren’t nearly as panicked as you should have been. Peter making the deep breath gesture in the hopes you take the hint. Instead you make the mistake of looking down to your hands. A bloody red thumb making you really freak out.

                                                --------------

Stephen Strange:

           Something was wrong before you ever entered the sanctum. It wasn’t the odd silence as the sanctum was never really silent. There was always some sort of whispering coming right out of the walls or a rattle from the artifacts although there was no wind.

           Walking through the building you pass by Wong at a next by a bookshelf. His head slowly rocks while reading, listening to his headphones. He makes a slight glance upwards as you pass, just to acknowledge you while you wave. Not bothering to stop and have a one-sided conversation until you touch something, and he makes you leave.

           If Stephen hadn’t called out to you when you first enter he was probably busy. Leaving you to walk through the sanctum, leaving your jacket on a chair and bag tossed on a chair passing by.

           It was a little past noon when you cross his bedroom’s doorway. Being greeted by the bare back of your man. At one point he was wearing his oddly average looking flannel robe, by now gravity had dragged it down from it’s place on his shoulders. Cloth gathering at the small of his back and wrists. If it weren’t for the ragged breathing and sweat he could have been a statue.

           “Working out for once?” You ask, bag and jacket tossed on the bed.

           No response.

           “Stephen? You there?” Usually he’d snap out of the meditation when you entered the room. Other times he’d take a few seconds into minutes to finish up and then return.

           Kneeling in front of him his breathing is still going crazy. His wrists are buried in the robe sleeves, so instead you reach towards his neck. You didn’t need to be a doctor to know how to find someone’s pulse.

           Before finding the bumping vein he catches your wrist. An iron made of ice grip that was probably making your bones crack under the skin. His eyes were open but there was nothing in them. No pupil or color just discolored white that still stared right into you.

           Although the first hand still holds like he’s trying to break your bones, the other is gentle. Resting above your wrist and sliding up your sleeve. Thumb gently touching the skin,

           “Stephen, stop.” You said.

           His gentle thumb dug into your skin. His nail cutting into your skin.

           “Stephen, no. Stephen.” His grip is too strong to pull away.

           In understandable self-defense your free hand pulls back. Slamming upward against his nose with the base of your hand. His head jerked backed with the break of his nose, but he gave no noise of being in pain. Head coming back to look at you with blood starting to dribble out of his nose and down his lip. Twist of your other hand and you’re free, scrambling back.

           “WONG! WONG HELP!” You yell getting to your feet as Stephen goes back into the lotus position.

           It takes a little more yelling before slamming feet come up the stairs. Wong stopping at the door way, giving you two seconds to explain before he would starting asking questions.

           “Something wrong, he’s not waking up and his eyes are fucked.” You rapid fire explain, pulling your sleeve up. Finding that Stephen did break the skin with his nail. “What’s happening?”

           Just like a regular medical emergency it’s best to get out of the way so those qualified can work. Taking a step back as Wong almost jumps over the gap between Stephen and bed, quickly sitting in front of him and closing his own eyes.

           It’s hard to watch an event when it’s happening on an entirely other plane of existence. Sitting on the end of the bed, looking between them as though you could catch a speck of what was going on. The only hint you got that anything was actually happening was how Wong was gathering sweat on his brow, mirroring the damaged wizard in front of him.

           In the end you lasted maybe two minutes imaging whatever battle or conversation was going on. Grabbing the bucket that was really nothing more than decorative and getting into the bathroom. It felt like forever before the thing was completely filled from the sink. Only made worse by the lack of noise, practically ruining the panic that was almost strangling anyone involved in this entire event.

           In the entire event the only yelling or anything close coming to a battle cry came from you in tossing the bucket’s contents. The entire room was soaked in your attempt to just hit Stephen. Drenching the back of Wong, destroying the bed sheets and any paper that was left out in the area.

           Both Wong and Stephen gasp and cough as through they had been drowning. Stephen, after holding his throat for a second, pulled his robe about himself. Looking to Wong and then up to you.

           He doesn’t say thank you, he only nods. Later on, both you and Wong would interrogate him, he’d try and explain it, but you’d really never understand. Just standing there, ready with your bucket.

                                              --------------

Matt Murdock:

         It isn’t uncommon for those born and raised in a city to never learn how to swim. When you don’t live next to a large body of water or are willing to drag yourself to the closest pool, there was really no point.

           Matt was not one of those people. Being submerged completely in water was not the best situation to be in but he could swim enough to live. But that was Dare-Devil who could swim, not Matt Murdock. When freezing water rushed into his mouth and his glasses were gone into the water he really wished there weren’t as many witnesses, or that it was night time, at least.

           Hearing the crack of wood while walking around the docks wasn’t out of the ordinary. Hearing it so prominently under your girlfriend’s foot was. In the few seconds that sound gave him he grabbed you around the center, a small twirl and setting you on the other side. His stability giving out under his foot wasn’t unexpected. But the water was no less cold, and the fall was no less terrifying.

           It’s harder for him to hear through the water. Reaching towards the surface, pulling himself up just enough to not die. The water in his mouth keeping him safe from pulling the cliché line: “help me! I can’t swim!”

           In the end it didn’t matter that Matt had kept you from falling in. Right away knowing that the next weight hitting the water was his angel.

           “Matt, Matt you need to calm down. Please stop flailing.” You say, grabbing around his center to keep him from bashing into you.

           Swimming with clothes on is hard enough, even worse while pulling a man in equally heavy clothes. Dragging him through the water, guiding his hands to the ladder. He could pull himself up after that, pushing back to sit and wait for you to fret over him.

           Seconds after Matt has disappeared anyone official on the dock was gone. Nothing like the words “fall” and “lawyer” to get people moving.  

                                                --------------

Carol Danvers:

           On one of the few “date nights” you sit side by side at the bar. Carol sitting with a hand on your knee, the other holding her glass. She uses it to gesture while talking about some story or another, telling you about how she learned the newest way of swearing from some alien language.

           The words seem to be unpronounceable to you, even Carol seemed to have a little difficulty. The more cranberry vodkas she drank, the less she was able to pronounce the words that consisted of a guttural sound and a whistle.

           By the third a real problem arose. Knocking back the last of the liquid, now consisting of melted ice, little bit of flavored vodka and the lime, her hand goes to her throat when the glass is empty. It was hard to think that such a powerful being could be brought to panic by a lime wedge.

           She tried to hide it at first, coughing into the corner of her elbow. When the coughing stopped she grabbed her throat, standing tall and knocking the stool to the floor. You didn’t bother asking if she was okay. Her grip on your forearm was all you needed to know something was really going wrong. Your own stool joining hers, slamming to ground as you went behind her.

           Choking wasn’t anything new to this bar. A sign showing the steps to the Heimlich maneuver was strategically placed among the other trash the owner called decoration.

           Wrapping your arms around her center from behind wasn’t anything new, either. One hand over the other, pulling back under her ribs with force, doing this again and again. Blonde hair, smelling like industrial shampoo, fluffs back into your face. Any small attempt at opening your mouth to try and soothe Carol was stopped by a mouthful of hair.

           Heimlich maneuver doesn’t always work. Leaning back from her back, one still around her center. The other pulling back and slapping open handed between her shoulder blades. In a crude explanation, it was like burping an adult.

           The lime doesn’t shoot out like in the movies. Just comes out with a few hearty coughs into Carol’s hand. She grabs the bar when you let her go, leaning forward against the edge. Still coughing while everyone was still just watching.

#Helping hand #Carol Danvers #carol danvers x reader #captain america #captain america x reader #captain marvel x reader #steve rogers x reader #T'Challa #t'challa x reader #black widow x reader #black panther x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #pietro maximoff x reader #spiderman x reader #pietro maximoff #peter parker x reader #thor x reader #dr. strange x reader #stephen strange x reader #reader isnert #reader is a bamf #Carol Danvers drinks white girl drinks #marvel imagine

[havenoffandoms]

Officially quarantined, so officially got time to write again!!

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!

If anyone fancies dropping me a PM/ask with an idea they would like to see developed to while away the coronavirus frenzy, please feel free to do so!

I take requests for:

- The Witcher (Geralt x Jaskier, Geralt x Yen, Geralt x Triss, reader insert)

- Supernatural (Destiel, Sabriel, reader insert with pretty much anyone, or if you fancy another pairing drop me a messag/ask and I'll see what I can do for you)

- Marvel (I can be convinced to give any pairing a go, also reader insert)

- Any Tom Hiddleston character

- Any Henry Cavill character

Everyone keep safe from the virus, wash your hands and keep in touch with the vulnerable people around you!!

#supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #spn #sabriel #destiel #sam x gabriel #dean x reader #reader isnert #the witcher #geralt x yennefer #geralt x jaskier #marvel #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston imagine #henry cavill #henry cavill imagine #tom hiddleston x reader #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x y/n #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston x y/n #requests open

[petitelepus]

Decepticon For Life, Part 12

You get Autobot mechanic Bulkhead to help your side, Decepticons to finish the Space Bridge. Now if only things would go as planned... NOTE, I’m trying to bring this story back! It has been my most read story and now with Killer May reaching for this story’s hits I need to update this story. It’s been a while, but give the Decepticon For Life a read and I won’t disappoint you! Also, happy Juhannus!

It was all going according to lord Megatron's plan. He got Bulkhead to work with you and now he was giving orders to Constructicons how to finish the Space Bridge... The only problem was that he couldn't help but argue with professor Sumdac about how to move forward. You groaned as you listened to them argue where hollow cato tube should go.

Out of all the jobs, Megatron could give you it was to watch over them. You knew nothing about Space Bridges but apparently you knew enough is someone was trying something. Suddenly there was a loud clank as the giant tube was thrown on the ground and the Constructicons sat down.

"That's it! We're on a break!" Mixmaster exclaimed and he and Scrapper poured oil down their intakes. You shook your head and went to them. "Okay, guys, do what you must but next break is in 3 hours!"

"Whatever you say, babe," Scrapper said between the chugs of oil. You groaned but then you heard professor and Bulkhead argue with each other. You walked up to them and cleared your intake, getting their attention. "I hope you don't plan to do anything stupid. Lord Megatron gave me permission to knock some sense into you if you decided to act foolishly."

Bulkhead shook his helm. "Wouldn't think of it."

You nodded, "Good." and turned to go and get your Constructicon friends to work again. When you were out of the earshot professor Sumdac turned towards Bulkhead. "I can't believe she was an Autobot...!" He grumbled in disbelief and Bulkhead looked at the man like he had grown a second head.

"What? What are you talking about?" The green mech asked, "The femme Decepticon? She isn't an Autobot!"

"Oh, but she was!" Professor exclaimed as loudly as he dared so he wouldn't catch your attention. He looked over his shoulder and when you didn't turn towards them he looked at Bulkhead again. "She came here months ago with Starscream but she had this Autobot symbol with wings on her chest. She appeared to have amnesia and she couldn't talk until I fixed her. Starscream was most likely using her so when Megatron took her in she fell for everything that monster has to say."

"Wait, are you saying that femme is an Elite Guard?!"

"Shh...! Not so loud!" Professor hushed before checking if you heard. No, you were nagging at Mixmaster and Scrapper how they chugged too much oil to be healthy. Professor turned to Bulkhead. "I don't know who she was when I fixed her, but she had some poor lady's purse. You don't happen to know anything about it, do you?"

"Hmm, not that I can recall..." Bulkhead admitted before turning serious. "But if you tell me she was an Elite Guard then she could have been a spy!"

"Impossible! As I said, she had no idea who or what she was before Megatron took her in!" Professor snapped and this time you had heard them.

"What are you doing?!" You asked as you stomped over to them and placed your hands over your hips. "Did you come to an agreement over that tube? Because if not, I will personally stuck it up to your aft Autobot!"

"Yeah, we got it now..." Bulkhead grumbled and the professor nodded with him. You nodded and turned towards Constructicons, yelling them how their break was over.

It took hours, but finally, the Space Bridge looked like it was done. Megatron stood by the control panel with you behind him and Bulkhead stood next to him.

"I did what you asked. Now, why don't you let me and professor go and we call it even?" The green Autobot asked. Megatron glanced at him from the corner of his crimson optic.

"All in due time, Autobot," He said. "Are you certain it will work this time?"

"Ooh, absolutely." Professor Sumdac said as he walked to the controls and pushed a button. The bridge's engine sputtered and coughed, but nothing happened. Your optics widened in shock. Had they failed? If they failed, what would it mean for you?

"Oh well, too bad, nothing anyone can do, I guess we should just keep going-!" Professor was saying when suddenly the giant machine turned on, coughing and roaring as it created a blue ball of energy between its long towers. You smiled excitedly. It was actually working! Oh, Megatron was right when he got that big oaf Bulkhead!

"At long last, I will lead my troops back to Cybertron and reclaim what is rightfully mine!" Megatron boasted and you clapped your hands behind him. "Bravo, my lord! Your plan worked as planned!" You praised him. You have no idea what this Cybertron planet held, but you swore you would be right behind your lord as you would claim your home planet.

Suddenly there was an explosion behind you and you all turned to look what it was when you saw the Autobots emerge from the newly made tunnel they had exploded open.

"Too bad there is nobody for you to lead, Megatron!" Optimus Prime, leader of this small Autobot group shouted. You were about to pull out your guns when you noticed Scrapper above the mine. You grinned at the evil bots, "I don't think so!"

Scrapper jumped down with a warcry and snatched the two smaller Autobots, the yellow and light blue ones, into his arms. "Who you're calling nobody!?" He asked and Mixmaster shot cement mix at the Autobot leader and their ninja bot, trapping them on their spots. Mixmaster jumped next to Scrapper who held the bots in his arms and Optimus glared at them, "So you two are working for Megatron now."

You walked up to the Constructicons and grinned. "They were always on the winning side." You said but just as the last word left your mouth, the mountain trembled and groaned as the mountain's roof over your helms was blasted into oblivion. You shielded your face from falling rocks.

Who dared to attack you like that?! Did Autobots come with backup?

When the smoke cleared you looked up and you couldn't believe what you saw. It was Starscream! He was using the jets on his legs to stand above you all and he wasn't alone. There were 5 jets circling him. Had he come for revenge? He couldn't have picked any worse time, but you might as well take him down with Autobots and make him tell who you were.

"Megatron, my old friend! Thanks for making all the hard work for me! Ha ha ha ha!" Starscream laughed and you grounded your denta together in fury. You wouldn't let him get away again. Not without answering your questions first.

"Star-!"

"Concentrate your attacks on Megatron!" Starscream ordered, cutting you off, and the jets behind him transformed and shot straight at your lord. You watched in horror how the shots landed and threw Megatron back into boulders and stone wall. "Lord Megatron!" You shouted and quickly run up to him.

"More Starscream clones!?" The ninja bot exclaimed followed by Optimus' question, "How is that even possible?!"

The blue bot started to rant in a quick manner about a theory that Starscream had claimed pieces of AllSpark and made clones with it. You didn't listen that closely as you focused on helping your lord up to his feet. Megatron growled and pulled out his sword.

"Lugnut, Blitzwing! I need backup at once!" He shouted, out loud and through comm links, but no one came. "Where are you?!"

Where indeed were they? Should you go look for them, but would you dare to leave your leader alone to fight against Starscream, his clones, and Autobots? Granted, Autobots were out of the picture. The shots get coming so you jumped behind a boulder and returned the fire at the clones with your gun.

Megatron was doing amazing, fighting off 5 clones and blocking their attacks with his sword and fusion cannon attached to his right arm.

"It will take more than a few pathetic clones to defeat me Starscream!" Your lord shouted and shot a blast of energy at Starscream who dodged the attack. You shot at the clones with your best abilities and you managed to keep a couple of them on their toes if they didn't want to get shot.

"Mixmaster, find Lugnut and Blitzwing! Dreadtrap and Scrapper back me up!" Megatron ordered. Scrapper let go of the Autobots he was holding and as soon as the bots' pedes touched the ground they took off quicker than you have seen someone go.

"You, hey, I never bargained, but this? I'm a builder, not a fighter!" Mixmaster said, but just as he was done a shot went through the oil canister he had on his hand and all the precious oil leaked through his hand. The Constructicon saw red, just like his optics, and threw the messed canister on the ground. "That's it! Nobody messes with my motor oil!"

You heard banging and saw that Optimus Prime had broken free from cement and with a single punch he released the ninja bot also. You growled but focused on Starscream's clones. You wouldn't let them hurt your lord any more than they had already. Mixmaster run past you and he came face to face with a blue Starscream's clone.

"Fool! A mere construction bot is no match for my superior firepower!" The clone boasted and Mixmaster frowned. "Oh really? Then you know where you can stick it?" He asked as his hand transformed and he shot a load of wet cement at the clone. He hit the bullseye and the clone screamed as he couldn't move.

"Gaah, impossible! You can't defeat me! You're not worthy, you're an inferior and your job stink!" The clone shouted as he struggled against he gooey cement like a fly in spider's web but just like on the web, he just got himself more mixed up. Mixmaster seemed satisfied with it, but when he turned there was a white clone pointing his gun at your friend.

"Don't worry, I won't shoot!" The clone shouted but his actions told another story. You switched tactics and took a shot at him and just as you were about hit him, the ninja bot thew one of his throwing stars at the clone's leg. That sent the white con flying and hurling through the air and he hit ground face first and hard. The ninja bot jumped at him ad cuffed him. "One Starscream down, five more to go."

You had a shot at him. You had him in your scope but you didn't take the shot. He could be useful against the clones, you ensured yourself. You cleared your optic and the ninja was gone.

"I'm not down, I can escape anytime I want to! I just don't want to." The clone talked to himself when an orange clone flew to him and shot the static cuffs off from the white's hands.

"Brilliant strategy, brilliant! It's such an honor to help you escape from such an elegant Autobot trap!" The orange clone praised and the white looked at him as he got up, "What are you talking about? I escaped all by myself!" He claimed and flew off. You tried to shoot what you thought was the real Starscream but he wouldn't let you get a clear shot. That's when you heard pathetic crying coming and you looked to the side.

The blue Autobot had a whiny clone in cuffs, but then came the blue clone who was still struggling against the cement mix around him and he hit the Autobot and clone head-on. The blue bot shouted rapidly for the cons to get off from him, but they were just as trapped as he was. The jets in blue clone's legs were still working and they pushed the trio through the Space Bridge's portal.

Three enemies gone, a bunch of them left. You took a shot at the white clone and he noticed you hiding behind a boulder as you kept shooting at him and his allies. He laughed and shot at you and you quickly ducked your helm down before he blew it off. As soon as you could, you took a shot at him again and hit him straight on the wing.

"Ouch! You didn't hurt me, didn't hurt at all!" The white clone exclaimed and you were starting to doubt everything this clone said. Megatron and Starscream were fighting hand in hand combat, though your lord had his sword and Starscream had his guns attacked to his arms.

"Starscream! Give up this foolish mutiny!" Megatron ordered but Starscream didn't give up. He gave Megatron an ugly glare and activated his jets and dodged a sword's cut, rounding around your lord. Megatron turned to shoot him, but two clones, white and femme ambushed Megatron from behind.

"My lord!" You shouted, but just as the clones were about to take a shot, Optimus Prime out of all the mechs tackled them head-on, saving your lord. The grey mech lowered his sword and looked at Optimus. "Why, you would be the last bot I expected to come to my rescue."

"I wasn't coming to your rescue." The Autobot leader snarled. You looked him through your scope, but you didn't shoot. You saw both leaders fighting back to back, against two clones and one original scumbag Starscream. You saw orange at the corner of your optic and you saw a blur of orange before you were tackled hard.

You let out a loud 'oof' as you lost your gun and the orange clone got up from on top of you and pointed his gun at you. You glared at him and he cackled. "Brilliant spot, just brilliant for shooting from a hideout!"

You glared at him. "You have no idea." You lifted your leg and activated your own jets, sending flames at the clone's face. He screamed and backed up, just enough for you to get the opening you wanted. You reached for your gun and took the shot, sending the clone flying through the room.

Suddenly you heard screaming and you turned to look, only to see your lord using Autobot leader Optimus Prime as a shield. What a brutal turn of events. Mixmaster was shooting wet cement at the ninja bot who kept dodging his attacks and then the small yellow bot tried to ambush the Constructicon from behind, but he was quickly pinned into the wall by quickly hardening the cement.

"Mixmaster, considerate your attacks on head Starscream!" Megatron ordered as he threw his Autobot shield on the side. Your leader and Starscream shared words and insults and you started shooting at the femme clone, trying to keep her busy. The ninja bot went to his leader's side, but he couldn't help him as the orange clone snapped static cuff on him.

"Brilliant, such a brilliant move with static cuffs! I just had to try it out!" He kept praising and you took a shot at him, but he saw it coming and dodged. You growled and followed his movements through your gun's scope when you suddenly saw a bright light and you fell back in pain. Someone shot you!

You groaned as you tried to get your processor and limps working. Whoever had shot you they had gotten you good. Your vision was fuzzy, but when it started to finally return you watched in horror how the clones were holding Megatron back as Starscream approached him with your lord's own sword. How did he get the sword from your lord's hands?

"Oooh, I have been waiting a long time for this...!" Starscream smiled as he looked at his reflection from the sword's black blade. Megatron tried to struggle and get the clones to release him, but it was in vain. Starscream grinned. "Don't worry, I'll tell you went offline valiantly... Just as you named me as your successor!" He raised the sword above his helm and you cried out in horror.

"Lord Megatron!"

#decepticon for life #tfa #transformers animated #transformers #megatron #reader #reader isnert #lugnut #blitzwing #blurr #optimus prime #professor sumdac #bumblebee #bulkhead #prowl #mixmaster #scrapper #dirge #thundercracker #skywarp #ramjet #slipstream #writing #my writing #story #my story

[kee-writestrashh]

Dreams in Neon

Ramsay Bolton x Reader

Ao3

Words: 1685

Summary:  The year is 2518. The race to create super soldiers is at its height. All the big Westrosi families are trying to undermine one another to get to the top first. Robots and androids on every corner. Is that guy even human? 15 years ago you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Your father packed you up and fled the city to try to undo his mistake. However, you were left with your formidable grandmother. Now an adult, well on your way to the top of the law field, you receive word that your father didn't just leave you with your grandmother, but he was kidnapped by one of those big time crime families, and shunted to the underground. You decide to team up with an old friend from the city and uncover the truth about what happened the day you seemed to lose everything. On your arrival, things start to get weird, and you were not prepared for this. War is looming on the doorsteps, but it may not be from other countries or even colonies ready to break free from the oppression of the home planet. Will you regret leaving the 'country side' or will you stand your ground and find your father? (*3rd person pov)

Chapter 2: Circuits Entwined

The city had changed so much in the last 15 years. Honestly, she hated it. Sure the neon lights illuminating everything was exciting. The huge holographic billboards with advertisements for new car and motorcycle upgrades and all-in-one robotic house cleaning services for a low payment of 3000 credits. The loud attire of everyone. It seemed neon light infused clothing were all the rage this season.

She had just been bustled off the subway when she suddenly felt woozy and slightly sick to her stomach as the crowd pushed past her. She took a deep breath and chalked it up to nerves. She had had a lot of those lately. Nerves. But this had been a most peculiar feeling. Like a cold tingle in the back of the mind, and a strange flopping sensation of the stomach. Whatever it was, it was unpleasant.

She glanced around, looking for the one who was supposed to be meeting her. Even so late in the evening the station platform was packed. Did these people ever sleep? She took in the people talking away on either cell phones, or handsfree with their hologlasses. None of them paying any mind to the rats running in and out of the maze of feet as they scavenged for food.

“(Y/N)!” A voice called on the other side of the platform. She glanced up, and smiled as she saw the auburn curls of Robb Stark bouncing as he waved his arms to catch her attention. (Y/N) wove her way through the crowd, much like the rats, pulling her luggage along with her. She stopped in front of Robb and flashed him a beaming grin, turning her eyes to broody Jon beside him.

“Sorry we were a bit late. Got held up.” Robb said, eyes shining as he relieved her of her luggage. “(Y/N), it is so great to see you again!” he added, leading her from the platform.

“I can tell. Jon is practically bursting to the brim with excitement.” (Y/N) chuckled, nudging Jon, who rolled his eyes.

“He’s just having a bad day. Girl troubles.” Robb chuckled, opening the door of a taxi for her as he loaded the bags in the trunk. (Y/N) slid in the backseat, Robb on her other side as Jon took the empty passenger’s seat. (Y/N) glanced over the android driver, who seemed to glow in monochrome and then turned grinning at Robb.

“I really cannot thank your parent’s enough for letting me stay until I can get a job and my own place.” She said earnestly.

“Don’t worry about it! Mum and dad adore you. And when you called about the message you got… well, dad’s all over it. Said your father was a great man, and feels like shit that all of this happened under his watch.” Robb nodded, giving her a sad smile.

The ride to the Stark’s family home was relatively short, considering it was on the edge of the city, and (Y/N) couldn’t help but marvel at how elegant the home was against the city backdrop. It wasn’t how she remembered it. But then again, 15 years was a long time. She couldn’t even recall what happened the day they left. She only remembered leaving in a hurry. And the more she tried to remember the more it seemed to physically hurt. She couldn’t explain it.

Ned and Cat Stark met them at the front door. Cat fussed about how exhausted (Y/N) must be and ordered the boys to take her things to the guest room. Ned clapped her on the shoulder, and said they would speak in the morning. The only other one living in the house was Rickon, who had already been put to bed. But even without the other three, it was like some ‘Welcome home party’.

The Stark’s had always been close to her family. Ned and her father had been close friends, and even after the ‘accident’ as her grandmother had called it, the Stark’s had still remained close; coming to visit her, but never was she allowed to the city. (Y/N), Robb, Jon, and Sansa had all went to college together upstate. But, still unsure what she wanted to do with her degree, (Y/N) had gone back to her grandmother’s to breathe and recharge. And then when she felt she had almost figured out her next step the message had arrived.

(Y/N) fell into the bed with a sigh, staring up at the dark ceiling. As if suddenly remembering exactly why she was here, a heart becoming heavy, as she rolled on her side and stared now at the illuminated clock.

She had been busy surfing the web and halfass playing a tournament in VR when a glitch occurred, making everything blackout. She had yanked the helmet off and glanced around quickly, trying to figure out what had happened when a voice spoke. She jammed the helmet back on, but everything was still black.

“H-hello?” She said quietly, turning her head, this way and that, wondering if she could get a picture to come in.

“(Y/N)!” The voice shouted, almost in relief.

“Dad?”

“(Y/N), baby, listen to me. I don’t have much time. They... are... coming.” But a static was starting to set in.

“Who? Who are coming? Dad? DAD! Where are you?” She cried, clutching the helmet tighter, as if it would help anything.

“I… love… you. I am so… sorry for all… the lies… don’t let them… … find him. You must find him. I am so sorry…. I lo-... you.”

“Who? Find who? What lies? DAD?!”

But there was no answer. Beating the damn VR helmet did nothing. She stood there stunned for a moment, before realizing, she was back in her game tournament. So that meant… She glanced down in the corner, the flashing light in the corner meant it was still recording.

“(Y/N), where were you? What happened? You glitched out!” Robb’s voice said, as his character ran across the screen toward her.

“Later.” (Y/N) said quickly. “Drop.” she said firmly. She suddenly found herself back at the homescreen of the system. “Playback.” she ordered, and the videofeed appeared on her computer screen as she pulled off the helmet. She placed the helmet on her desk, swiping her finger across the screen of the computer until the glitch happened. She almost gasped when she heard her father’s voice. It had managed to record the glitch. Quickly, she cropped and cut that sliver of recording and uploaded it to her memory chip, then sending it to Robb.

She stormed from the room to the kitchen where her grandmother sat gossiping with the neighbor. She glared at the old woman, chest swelling with hot air. “You lied to me!”

Her grandmother raised her brows, taking a sip of her coffee.

“You said father was safe! You said father couldn’t come home because he was on a water conservation project! What is going on?” She raged.

Her grandmother fixed her with a long look. “I don’t know what you are ta-”

(Y/N) stomped to the table and mashed her finger on the middle section of the tabletop, “Replay my last message sent Maxie!”

Her grandmother’s face fell as the message played back. There was silence for a long time before she turned her eyes to her granddaughter. “Sit child.”

(Y/N) fell heavily into her chair, arms crossed tightly over her chest, fixing her grandmother with a cold stare.

“Your father is a brilliant man. Too smart for his own good. He caught unwanted attention by greedy people. When the whole super soldier fad started up again about twenty years ago your father had made a breakthrough. Those kingpins, looking to make more money and their names in history forever, they bent your father’s arm. They took your mother away and…”

(Y/N) made a noise of distress, “The mob murdered mom?”

Her grandmother only gave a curt nod, taking a breath and continuing, “not wanting to lose you too, he submitted to the next man who came knocking. Roose Bolton. But, there was an accident. That involved you. Your father took you as quickly as possible and you both came here. Leaving everything behind. You were in a coma for a month. And when you woke up and couldn’t remember anything, we both breathed a sigh of relief. But, Roose Bolton is not a very forgiving man. So your father left me with instructions. To never tell you what happened. To tell you he had gone to work on a conservation project. But he never returned to the Bolton man. They showed up here looking for him, always keeping an eye on our home. But your father never came back.”

She gaped at the woman, “So you have no idea where the fuck he is?” She paused, “Sorry, Anne.”

The old neighbor lady at the table simply waved her hand dismissively, lighting a cigarette.

She turned her attention back to her grandmother who only shook her head. (Y/N) made another noise and slammed her palms down on the table, “What the fuck?!” she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, “What kind of accident?”

“I don’t know, baby. Your father never spoke of it. He just told me to never speak of any of it, or allow you to go back to the city.”

“Well, I’m going.” (Y/N) snarled.

“I know.” her grandmother said with a nod, “I would expect no less.”

(Y/N) rose from her chair, walking in a daze to her bedroom. She hardly remembered packing her things or anything she said or was said to her when she called Robb.

She had finished packing and laid in bed, much as she was now, falling into an uneasy sleep.

Again the same dream. But there was not much to be made from it. All she could see was a pair of deep blue eyes staring back at her and then nothing as the back of her mind would go cold and fuzzy.

.

**picture not mine. found on google

#ramsay bolton x reader #cyberpunk #cyberpunk au #futuristic #modern ramsay bolton #2518 #soulmates au #future westeros #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones au #ao3 fanfic #kee_theyoungwolf #cyborgs #robots and androids #ramsay bolton #reader isnert #3rd person pov #ramsay bolton imagine #game of thrones fic #alternate universe #no shame #mafia #gangs #guns #drugs #alcohol #lies #supernatural powers #powers #genetic engineering

[that1britishperson]

Another World - Chapter 1

pls note that this story does contain mentions of mental illness such as; social anxiety, depression, anxiety, and ocd. this is to spread awareness, as i am diagnosed with three out of the four. i understand it is not fun and it can put a huge burden on your life, and some things are better to be talked about than left in the dark. always remember that there is help and know that you are loved and that you are not alone.

⫸ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ⫷

[6 months earlier]

It was the same thing almost every day. Her parents arguing, failing almost all of your classes, going to meet your therapist. And every day, she comes home from school and locks yourself in the only place where she could feel secure; her room.

"And how are you doing today, Miss [L/N]?” The therapist had asked. He had a notepad with a pen his daughter gave to him. Mr Meaner crossed his legs while looking in your direction, hands folded on top of one another while he waited for a response.

[Y/N]’s head was thrown back against the leather sofa as she stared at the ceiling. The old lights were replaced with a chandelier with crystals on the side, it wasn’t too bright but enough to make the room feel cosier. “Same as any other day.” And it was the truth. She didn’t have many friends. It wasn’t like she wasn’t a likeable person, it’s just her anxiety telling her that nobody wants to be her friend.

And that is something the young woman hated. Feeling as if everything was her fault, that the reason nobody wanted to hang out with [Y/N] was because of the parents or that she came off as ‘weird’. “I see... And how are you doing on sleep the last we talked.”

Silence.

That was a good question. If only it were that easy to sleep in the current situation - but it wasn’t. The yelling, throwing, it kept her up most of the night and even with the prescribed medication, it was not enough.

“I haven’t slept in a few days.”

Mr Meaner sighed and took off his glasses and placed them on the desk. “Do you have anyone else you could stay with?” 

“No. Almost all of my relatives are in California or out of the state. Nobody that I know is in New York.”

The therapist nodded his head and took a moment to figure out what to do. Mixed with [Y/N]’s social anxiety and insomnia, he understood that it was not easy to make friends and get out and meet new people. “You mentioned last week that you have a computer?”

Rising her head, she finally looked at the person who has been listening to her vent and help the young woman cope for almost a year, “yeah.”

“Okay,” He nodded, “I want you to do something for me [Y/N] - it’s to help you and settle your anxiety. Try making YouTube videos, music.. anything like that. I understand it sounds crazy now, but I promise in the long run that it will help you.” 

“Absol-” She began but was immediately cut off.

“You don’t even have to show your face. I realise that you may be nervous, but doing this with help soothe your nerves when you talk to people. Give it a week, and if you do not like it then you don’t have to continue. Just give it a try.”

⫸ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ⫷

And so, that's exactly what she did – almost a week later. After using the last of her birthday money buying a few games for her stable PC, and having the recording fail about five-time; she managed to film -webcamless-. 

It was called Fallout 3, as it was always her favourite out of all of the four and was really great at it -- aside from the national guard depot, as she had little to no grenades and had died quite a bit, however, it was nothing editing couldn’t handle.

‘There you go,’ [Y/N] whispered to herself after she was done with her editing, it was not the best but would get better if she were to continue, ‘All you have to do, is it publish.’

To her, that was easier said than done. Many thoughts had run through her head:  What if they didn’t like it? What if someone pointed out how she mixed up her words because of her nervousness? Would they call her out for not being able to get the vault 87?

As these thoughts carried on, the cursor slowly inched towards the ‘publish’ button. And just like that, it was done. Out, for anybody to see.

⫸ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ⫷

The following morning she awoke to the phone buzzing, signalling that somebody was calling her phone. Groaning the young woman rolled over and picked up her cell that was on the nightstand next to the bed, being careful not to knock the [favourite colour] lava lamp on the ground. It was a gift that her father had gotten her on her eighteenth birthday just last week, and it’s something she would always remember because that day felt like everything was normal again -no parents fighting, staying up watching movies until all of them had fallen asleep. 

Once in a blue moon would that happen again. “Hello?” Her voice was raspy, clearly telling the person on the other line that she had just woken up and most likely disturbed her.

“Hey honey,” It was her Nan and the only one in the family who she actually liked, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

[Y/N] gave a soft smile even though the elder on the other end couldn’t see, “No, Nan, it’s okay. I had to get up soon anyway for school.”

“How are you doing there?”

“I would say I’m doing good. Although [major] is beating me up.”

A laugh was heard on the other end, “I am sure you are doing the best you can, sweetie. What about your parents? Did anything change?”

And there was that question.

“Same thing, different day.”

“You know you are always welcome to stay with your gran’dad and I in California.”

The young woman sighed, “I don’t have the money to fly down there, besides if I did, it would put my scholarship at risk.”

“We will gladly fly you here; and there are plenty of opportunities here [N/N]. Besides you are a smart girl, any school down here would be lucky to have you as a student.”

She laid back down and stared up at her ceiling, phone in one hand and the other tracing the patterns that the light gave above her, “I’ll think about it.” 

“Just let us know, I love you.”

“Love you too.” After hanging up, [Y/N] tossed the phone to the side. Sure New York had some great places and many things to do even if you don’t have that much money; however she did have people in Vacaville that loved her (or more so her grandparents and her only friend she made in grade 8 who sadly moved away just before their graduation to grade 9: though both still try their best to talk to each-other.

Her phone buzzed, groaning as she debated weather or not to answer it. Thinking of the latter, [Y/N] reached for her phone and checked to see who was texting her.

                                        New text from Ezra

Speak of the devil.

Unlocking the phone, she made her way to the messages and read what was sent.

EZRA YOU BITCH!

EZRA YOU MADE A YOUTUBE WITHOUT TELLING ME???

EZRA GURL, I HAD TO FIND OUT BECAUSE YOU ARE TRENDING!

EZRA i thought what we had was special 😔

Wait what? She had to go back to make sure she had read that correctly, she was trending?                                                                                                     Exiting the messages, she had made her way over to YouTube and sure enough, she was at #6 for gaming.

Shock ran through her body. Her first video has gone viral overnight. And then reality settled in; she has gone viral in one night.

#corpse husband #corpse x reader #reader is female #reader is famous #reader isnert #corpse simp #corpse imagines #platonic #this is a wip #mentions of mental heath #you are good enough #cussing #this story has cussing #slow burn #no romance #reader is 18 #corpse is 23 #still a platonic relationship #my first fanfic #pls don't let this flop #first chapter #corpse husband x reader #corpse husband x you #corpse husband x y/n